We Shall Fight
by Apollo888
Summary: The Great War changed the world. The Great War changed us all. A non-linear AU tale set in Series 2. The sequel to Flirting With Convention.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, September 1914**

Lady Mary Crawley turned her head slightly as she looked at her reflection in the full length mirror. Her hands moved down her front, her fingers playing with the long pearl necklace she had chosen to match her dress. She sighed to herself. The necklace was a gift, and her mind wandered to the man who had given it to her.

"Is that what you're wearing for this evening?" Edith asked as she came into the room and sat down on the bed.

Mary's eyes did not move from her reflection. She refused to acknowledge her sister directly when it was so obvious Edith was trying to goad her.

"No, it's not. I'm trying on clothes for fun, rather than dressing for dinner," she shot back, her eyes staying focused on the mirror.

"Mary," Sybil scolded her lightly, sitting down in a chair by the fireplace.

"Well, honestly, Sybil, obviously I'm wearing this dress to dinner! The gong's already rang," Mary rolled her eyes.

"I was referring to the necklace, actually," Edith retorted.

"And what is wrong with the necklace, pray?" Mary sighed in exasperation.

"It seems rather ostentatious for a simple dinner," Edith said lightly.

"I like it," Mary said firmly. "Matthew bought it for me."

'_He bought it for me here in London, another lifetime ago it seems,'_ she thought.

"Must you constantly wear something to remind yourself of him?" Edith rolled her eyes.

"In addition to these, you mean?" Mary frowned at her sister over her shoulder. She held up her hand and flicked her fingers, showing off her wedding ring and engagement ring.

"Yes," Edith said tightly. "I would think that those would be enough."

"They are," Mary said, turning back to her reflection. "But it just so happens that I own a number of things bought for me by my husband. This necklace, these rings, the matching earrings, this dress, and these shoes, to name a few. Not only are they very generous gifts, they are also a small way for me to keep my husband in my thoughts."

'_Matthew, where are you?'_ her mind cried out silently.

"Mary, don't be so unkind," Sybil sighed, glancing nervously at Edith.

"How am I being unkind?" Mary asked innocently, turning around. She glanced over at Edith, who was now looking at the floor with her hands clasped tightly together in her lap.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" Mary threw up her hands. "So Strallan left the Garden Party last month without proposing. That doesn't mean he isn't going to, you know! In case you don't remember, there was the small announcement that the country is at War. It may have distracted him just a little."

Edith glared at her sister. "I didn't see the prospect of War distracting Matthew when the two of you went to your bench!" she spat. "You were kissing as if the only source of air were in each others' throats!"

Mary's eyes widened and her mouth opened in shock.

"You weren't exactly trying to be discreet, darling," Sybil giggled.

"The guests had already departed!" Mary hissed, a blush clearly showing across her face. "We wanted to be alone. Papa had just announced we were at War with Germany. We needed to take time in private to properly absorb the gravity of the situation."

"Oh, I'm quite sure you would have absorbed more than that if we hadn't gone to fetch you to come inside," Edith rolled her eyes.

"Edith!" Sybil cried.

"Oh, grow up, Sybil, you've had your debut already. There's no need to act like you don't know what married couples get up to," Edith huffed. "Mary and Matthew can't keep their hands off each other. We all know that."

"Well if you expect me to apologize for having a husband who desires me, don't hold your breath," Mary said, composing herself.

'_Matthew, I need you here,' _her plea whispered through her thoughts.

"Shall we go down?" Mary's question was more of a command than anything else.

They filed out of her room and down the stairs, crossing the hall and going into the parlour. Their parents were already there, taking pre-dinner drinks. Mason and Carson stood by patiently.

"Any news, Papa?" Mary asked as she took a brandy snifter from Mason.

"The votes are cast. I think we'll be able to go home this week. I have meetings tomorrow but I should be free of this business after that," Robert replied.

"And what was the result of today?" Edith inquired as they gathered around.

"Lord Kitchener was appointed Secretary of State for War," Robert sighed. "The man is painting a rather dreary picture of what we can expect."

"I thought prevailing opinion was that the War would be over by Christmas," Cora noted.

"That is the prevailing opinion, which is not one shared by our new Secretary of State, I'm afraid. He's talking about three years, and needing to raise an army of one million, I ask you," Robert huffed.

"But surely he's only being overly cautious," Mary frowned. "Three years at War? An army a million strong? Are things truly so desperate?"

"The reports back from Mons were not what we expected. The Germans outnumbered us by over 3 to 1," Robert said grimly. "It took two weeks to carry out the retreat."

"The press are calling it a strategic victory," Edith stated.

"Where did you read that?" Mary asked.

"In the Standard," Edith said simply. "They say we hit them harder than they hit us, and that they suffered far more casualties. It was apparently a blow to the enemy."

"Tell that to the Belgians," Sybil said dismissively.

Robert and Cora gave their youngest daughter a puzzling look. Cora then turned to answer Edith.

"Of course they said that, dear," Cora shook her head. "To say anything else would be poor for morale."

"Not to mention illegal, thanks to the laws that we've now passed," Robert said.

"Darling, I don't think we should be discussing this," Cora said, glancing over at Sybil before looking back at the Earl. "If your business is done, then let's have a proper dinner and prepare to go back home. I don't much feel like socializing for the rest of the week. London seems particularly dour these days."

"Of course," Robert nodded, smiling at his wife in understanding. "Well, let's go through then. Carson?"

"The meal is ready to serve, my Lord," the butler nodded.

"Fine. Then, shall we?" Robert asked his family.

"Yes, I'm starving," a voice called.

They all turned towards the door. Matthew came through, a smirk on his lips, his eyes finding Mary.

"Matthew, you've missed drinks, I'm afraid," Robert said.

"My apologies," Matthew nodded. "My meetings ran late, which set me back in changing for dinner."

Robert nodded and they all turned and went to the dining room. Mary paused and looked at her husband with a mix of pique and playfulness.

"It's terribly rude to have your wife come down alone," she said quietly as he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Please forgive me, darling," Matthew smirked. "Alex had a great deal to go over, and a number of arrangements that needed to be finalized today."

"I still can't believe he's leaving," Mary shook her head, reaching up with her gloved hand and smoothing out Matthew's suit.

"His brigade was called up," Matthew said resignedly. "Apparently there was a bit of commotion last month when Mons did not go so well. They felt they needed the reserves sooner than expected, so Alex is off to somewhere in France."

"We were just talking about Mons, actually," Mary sighed. "Does Churchill share Lord Kitchener's view of how long the War will be?"

"He wouldn't reveal anything to us," Matthew replied. "But he's been very adamant about increasing oil production at Abadan. That can only mean he expects to need stockpiles for some time."

"As cold as it sounds, I suppose a benefit to this terrible situation is that your fortune has increased," Mary noted.

"Yes, the company share price has gone up, that's true," Matthew said. "Although I would prefer not adding the title of 'War Profiteer' to my name anytime soon."

"Don't joke about it," Mary scoffed. "You know how the entire country is on edge about that sort of thing."

"Quite," Matthew answered. "Now, let's go through. I truly am starving."

Mary took his arm and he escorted his wife through to dinner with her family.

**Downton Abbey, England, August 1914**

"Will that be all, Milady?" Anna asked.

"Yes," Mary said quietly. She rubbed cream into her hands and barely looked at her maid as she wished her goodnight.

Anna nodded to Matthew and left the bedroom.

"You've been rather quiet since this afternoon," Matthew noted. He took off his robe and settled into bed.

"You didn't seem to be bothered by how quiet I was on our bench," Mary smirked, rising from her chair and coming to bed.

Matthew laughed. He opened his arms and she came into his embrace, kissing him softly. She pulled back and ran her fingers through his hair, smiling down at him.

"What's the matter?" he asked patiently.

"Does it look like anything is the matter?" she raised her eyebrow.

"You don't fool me," he replied. "You were shocked by Robert's announcement."

"Weren't you? Don't tell me you expected that the country would declare War on Germany," she said.

"It was always a possibility after the assassination. When they invaded Belgium, it obviously forced our hand," Matthew sighed. "But what's really the matter? We're perfectly safe here."

"I know," Mary looked away. "It's just that, Papa and most of his friends have all fought in the Army before."

"Yes, the British policy is usually to draw officers from the gentry," Matthew said. "But there's no indication that they'll need them this time around. Robert's Army rank is mainly ceremonial now, in any event. What is he? A Captain?"

"A Colonel," Mary nodded. "It was years ago that he last served. I was ten."

"The Boer War," Matthew said. "And you remember it?"

"I remember him not being home," Mary said quietly, looking into his eyes.

"Don't worry, darling. At his age, the most he would do is assist in training, if that. I doubt they would send him to the front lines."

Mary nodded, looking down at his chest.

"Darling?" Matthew asked, lifting her chin with his hand so he could look at her. "Is that all?"

"You're part of the gentry now," Mary whispered.

Matthew's eyes widened. He leaned forward and kissed her. "I'm not going anywhere, Mary," he said against her lips.

"But Alex…" she said.

"That's different,' Matthew replied. "He enlisted in the reserves to help pay for law school. He's already a soldier. If his brigade is called up, then he'll go with them, but I would expect the Army won't need the reserves right away."

"I just wonder about you," Mary admitted. "There's already gossip from downstairs that some of the footmen want to enlist. I don't know if the Army will have need of you or not."

"Not if they want to win this War, they won't," Matthew laughed. When his wife did not share his humour, he looked at her with a reassuring expression.

"There's no reason for me to enlist, Mary," Matthew said calmly. "I have my hands full here already, and I don't know the first thing about being a soldier, let alone an officer. The only battle I'm concerned about is moving some of the tenants to cottages so we can take over their farms.

"I wonder if Papa will honour our agreement now," Mary said. "He may want to keep things the same with so much in the world changing around us."

"If the world is changing, then we must change with it. Hanging on to the past is hardly the answer," Matthew scoffed. "We'll have to be careful about what we say. Truthfully your Papa will be busy in the coming weeks. The House of Lords will need to deal with special measures for the War. There's already talk about amendments to the laws. Robert may welcome our assistance if he's too busy to handle things on his own."

"He'll probably just rely on Murray and Jarvis," Mary replied. "The Estate needs you here, Matthew. The family needs you."

"Is that why you were so eager outside this afternoon?" he smiled. "Trying to convince me to stay because you're afraid I'll run off to play soldier?"

Mary blushed. She looked down at his bare chest, then back up at his blue eyes.

"Did it work?" she asked nervously.

Mary cried out suddenly as Matthew pushed her on to her back. He was top of her in an instant, his movements deliberate and confident. He pressed his chest against her breasts. One hand moved down her side and grasped the hem of her nightgown. The other swept across her cheek, moving across her neck and shoulder and drawing the strap of her nightgown down her arm to expose her shoulder to his lips. He pushed gently with his knee and she opened her legs for him. His lips covered hers, his tongue swiping at the inside of her mouth. Mary moaned as she tasted him on her tongue and inhaled his scent.

When he pulled back to look at her, she shivered at his lustful gaze. He smiled at her tenderly, giving her the appreciative stare that she knew now was only reserved for her – his lover, his wife, his other half.

"Convince me again," he growled before kissing her once more.

**Downton Abbey, England, October 1914**

"What I would like to do, ultimately, is to move Phillips and Taylor to these cottages," Matthew said, pointing to the space on the map. "That will give us this section of continuous land for ourselves."

"What will you do with the land?" Robert asked, glancing over.

"I think livestock would work well. Start with pigs at first, a small number, then see how it progresses," Matthew replied.

"Pigs? Won't you need a man to deal with them?" Mary asked.

"Yes, we'll need to hire someone," Matthew nodded.

"We may already have a man," Robert noted. "Mary, who was the tenant who came to your wedding? The one who's family had pigs in Swansea?"

"Mr. Drewe," Mary replied. "He sent his son there for a summer to learn the trade."

Matthew smirked at his wife. "You seem to know a great deal about pig farming."

"Hardly," she scoffed. "I merely heard the man regale us with the details when Mama and I were in the Village months ago. You won't see me wandering in the muck when they arrive, I assure you."

"Well, perhaps we should have a discussion with Mr. Drewe," Matthew smiled. "What do you think, Robert?"

"I'll speak to him. His family has been in partnership with us for generations. I think you'll have a problem with Taylor. He's been here for ages as well."

"One step at a time," Mary said. "If we don't have a pig man to take on the work, there's no point buying back the land, is there?"

"No, none at all," Matthew agreed.

The dinner gong sounded and they all looked up from the map.

"Well then, that's enough for today," Robert said. "I'll speak to Drewe and Taylor within the week. Matthew, you can draw up the papers on the chance that Taylor agrees. I think Phillips will go. The man can barely see as it is, and he has an aching leg on top of it."

"Thank you, Robert," Matthew nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Papa," Mary smiled.

Robert rose from the table and glanced at both of them. He smirked and shook his head.

"Just because I prefer working alone does not mean I'm incapable of getting along with others, you know," he said pointedly.

"Of course you can," Mary smirked. "We'll see you at dinner, Papa."

Robert glanced over at Matthew, then nodded and left the room.

Matthew took her hand and walked in the opposite direction. It was quicker for them to take different stairs to reach their wing of Downton Abbey, although often when they did so, Cora or Violet would scold them for it.

"What?" Matthew smiled, looking at Mary's curious expression.

"Nothing," Mary shook her head. "I just find that this alliance with Papa is going remarkably well."

"We haven't really done anything yet. It's been talking, mostly," Matthew warned.

"And who would have thought he would be so open to discussion even two months ago?" Mary asked.

"Fair enough. He has been rather receptive to everything, more than I expected. Perhaps arguing with the Lords and the government for the past few weeks has made him realize that there are worse annoyances than having to deal with us about the Estate," Matthew chuckled.

"Whatever the reason, I am glad for it," Mary replied as they reached their hallway. Anna and Bates were already standing outside the bedroom and Matthew's dressing room.

"You're both rather eager this evening," Mary smiled. "You must have ran to beat us upstairs."

"I was already in Lady Edith's room, Milady," Anna explained, glancing quickly at Matthew, then looking back at her Mistress.

"And you, Bates?" Mary asked. "I thought you would be with Papa."

"His Lordship sent me here first, my Lady," Bates said crisply. He looked at Matthew, then looked back to Mary. "Something about Mr. Crawley takes longer than he does so he wanted me to get him done first."

Mary laughed. Matthew frowned.

"Very well," Mary said. "Let's not keep you, then."

She squeezed Matthew's hand and went inside the bedroom with Anna. Matthew walked over to Bates and they went into his dressing room.

"It's all arranged, Sir," Bates whispered.

"Excellent," Matthew nodded to his valet. "Let's get going then, there's no time to waste."

* * *

Matthew closed the door to his dressing room behind him and came into the bedroom. He smiled as he observed Anna finishing with Mary's shoes.

"That was quick," Mary noted. "If that's how long it takes you to change, then Papa must be lightning fast."

"I disagree that I take longer than anyone," Matthew grumbled, sitting down on a bench next to Mary's vanity. "Your father just enjoys needling me when he gets the chance."

"You must admit that he doesn't have the opportunity very often," Mary smirked. "You have a maddeningly small number of vices which can be exploited for ridicule."

"At least as far as he knows, anyway," Mathew smiled. "And it shall remain that way, won't it Anna?"

"My lips are sealed, Sir," Anna smiled, standing up as her task was finished.

Mary stood up and nodded. "Thank you, Anna. I'll ring for you after dinner."

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded. She bowed to both of them and left the room.

"Well, shall we?" Mary turned to her husband. "Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous," Matthew replied, standing up and looking at Mary with dark eyes.

Mary swallowed at his tone and the look in his eyes. She moved towards the door, biting her lower lip. She knew that stare, just as she knew of her husband's intentions whenever he looked at her like that.

"Let's go then," she said firmly, trying to keep her voice composed. It wouldn't do for them to be late for dinner because of…_that_. She stopped herself from recalling the numerous times they had been late for dinner as a result of such…distractions.

When they came out of the bedroom, a sound came from down the hallway. Mary frowned and stared in the direction of the noise.

"What is that?" she asked, looking down the corridor.

"What is what, darling?" Matthew asked.

"That noise?" she replied, turning towards it. "It sounds like…music."

"What would music be doing in our wing of the house?" Matthew wondered aloud.

Mary walked down the hall in the direction of the sound. As she grew nearer, she recognized the noise as the delicate strains of a violin. She passed their sitting room and reached a set of double doors that led to an empty parlour that had not been used since the days of the Third Earl.

"It's coming from in here," Mary glanced at the door.

"This is strange. Could it be an old music box left stored in here do you think?" he asked.

"And why would it suddenly start playing after years of dust?" Mary replied.

"Only one way to find out," Matthew said, taking hold of the doorknobs.

Mary stood slightly behind him as he opened both doors. He stepped back so she could see into the room.

"Matthew!" she gasped.

A dining table was set in the middle of the room, with place settings for two and an elegant candelabra and flower arrangement in the centre. A long table stood near the back of the room, with covered silver platters standing by. Anna and Bates stood off to the side, smiling back at them.

"Happy Anniversary, my love," Matthew whispered in her ear. His hands closed around her waist from behind and he pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek. Mary was too in shock to scold him for kissing her in front of the servants.

She walked slowly into the room, her husband guiding her to her seat. The room had been swept and cleaned, the walls repainted a neutral white colour. Light sconces were lit every few feet and the chandelier had been cleaned and refinished.

"What did you do?" Mary asked, glancing around the room.

"Nothing too extravagant," Matthew replied as Bates placed his napkin on his lap. "I had the wiring updated and fixed and the walls painted while we were in London last month. I didn't want to decorate any further, just in case you might have some ideas."

Mary looked across the table at his playful smirk. She smiled in return.

"And the two of you were co-conspirators, were you?" she called out.

"Forgive me, Milady," Anna curtsied. "But Mr. Crawley is Joint-Master here. We have to obey him."

They all laughed as Bates served the soup course. Matthew took up his champagne flute and Mary did the same.

"To many more years together, darling," he toasted.

"To many more years of happiness," Mary replied.

**Downton Abbey, England, November 1914**

"First, Barrow, now Branson," Mary said as they came outside. "I think Mason wants to be next."

"He's too young," Matthew replied as they took their places next to Edith and Sybil. "Although I hear he is not lacking in enthusiasm."

"How anyone could be enthusiastic about going off to War, I don't understand," she said.

"It's the Pals Battalions," Matthew said quietly. "The idea has become somewhat romanticized. Go off on an adventure with your mates and kill some Germans while liberating Europe at the same time. Every boy dreams about being a hero someday."

"Can't we do anything to stop them?" Sybil asked.

"How?" Edith replied. "If they want to volunteer for the Army, there's nothing to be done about it."

"Carson talked to both of them," Mary said. "They were both quite adamant."

Barrow and Branson went down the line, shaking hands and giving their goodbyes to the family. Mary and Matthew nodded politely to the two footmen. After saying goodbye to the other servants, the two of them picked up their large packs and went to the waiting motor to take them to the train station.

"I wonder if we'll ever see them again," Edith said.

"Don't talk like that," Sybil frowned.

"They may not make it to the Front," Mary said as they turned to go back inside. "Training can last for weeks, then it will be Christmas and the War could be over."

"Let's hope so," Matthew said. "Although I don't think anyone is sticking to those projections anymore."

**Downton Abbey, England, October 1914**

"Can you believe it's been one year already?" Matthew asked as they came into the bedroom.

"Of course," Mary smiled. "Why? Does it feel as though it's been longer or shorter to you?"

"Was that a question designed to get me into trouble?" Matthew smirked as he closed the door behind them.

"The depends on your answer, I suppose," Mary teased. She walked over to her vanity and began removing her jewellery.

Matthew followed behind her, his eyes admiring her form. The champagne had made him feel lightheaded, and the fact that his Anniversary surprise had gone over so well had him feeling positively giddy. It wasn't often that one could put one over on Lady Mary Crawley.

"On the one hand, it feels longer. After all, I've loved you for over three years now," he replied.

"A very wise answer, husband," Mary said, looking over her shoulder at him.

"And in some ways, I feel as though it's been quite short, as though we were back at the College in 1911," he said, approaching her and placing his hands on her hips.

"When you were a naïve lawyer from Manchester, thinking he was coming to London to teach music to some students and go on his way?" Mary smiled, glancing at their reflection in the mirror of the vanity as she took off her earrings.

"Mmm," Matthew smiled against her bare shoulder. "Little did I know the temptress that would soon appear in my classroom and change my life forever."

Mary shivered as he kissed her skin. "Why, Matthew," she breathed. "You make me sound as if I took advantage of you somehow."

"No, Mary," he smirked, kissing her neck lightly. "You opened my eyes."

She reached her gloved hand up and caressed his face, pulling him towards her and kissed him softly, their lips lingering together before she pulled away and smiled at him.

"I have a gift for you," she whispered.

"I am very much looking forward to unwrapping it," he raised his eyebrows and looked shamelessly down her cleavage.

"Behave yourself!" she scolded him lightly. Staying in his embrace, she reached down and opened a drawer of her vanity, removing a small box with a ribbon tied around it.

"When did you get this?" he smiled.

"You're not the only one who can keep secrets while we're in London," she said playfully. "Open it."

Matthew pulled the ribbon loose and opened the box, keeping his arms around his wife's waist so that they could both look down on the contents together.

"Oh, Mary. Thank you," he said gratefully.

"I know it may seem a bit unorthodox," she said. "But I'm sure you aren't too bothered by the fact that it isn't traditional."

Matthew smiled at the gleaming wristwatch. He brought it up closer for inspection. "It's beautiful, Mary. Where did you find this?"

"It's imported from Switzerland, by Wilsdorf and Davis of London," she smiled. "That was another reason that I bought it for you. I knew you wouldn't be too fussed about wearing something that wasn't English."

Matthew picked up the watch and turned it over, admiring the craftsmanship, the supple leather strap and the bright silver face.

"Thank you, darling," Matthew smiled, kissing her. "Perhaps you should consider picking out a matching one for yourself?"

"I'll think about it," Mary smiled. "Granny would probably have a fit. You know how much she loves these new innovations."

"Indeed," Matthew smiled. He ran his hands up her sides, causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot up her spine.

"Would you like to see your Anniversary present?" he asked.

"I thought it was the remodelling of the parlour?" she smiled, tilting her head to allow him access to the pale curve of her neck.

"Yes, that is for you to decorate to your heart's desire," Matthew agreed. "I do have something else though."

"Well, if past gifts are any indication, I'm sure it's a scandalously thin piece of lingerie," Mary smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as her husband continued his light pecks to her neck and shoulder.

"I am becoming too predictable," he chuckled.

"Shall I ring for Anna? She can help me prepare for bed," Mary asked innocently.

"Don't you dare think about it," Matthew snarled. His fingers moved towards the buttons on the back of her dress and made quick work of them. "It's our Anniversary and if anyone is going to undress you, it's me."

Mary laughed freely as her dress fell to the floor. She turned in his arms and quickly removed his jacket, tie and shirt, kissing him lightly as she cast each garment to the side.

"Would you like me to try on your gift now?" Mary asked as Matthew pulled her close against his bare chest, his lips finding her neck once more.

"Actually, no," he smiled. "The gift is to replace what you're wearing at the moment."

"Is that so?" she quirked her eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I'm afraid you won't be able to wear any of this again when I'm done with you," Matthew drawled.

"In that case," Mary smiled wickedly, stepping back from him slightly. "Don't be so sure your clothes will survive the night either, darling."

She pushed him backward with both hands. He laughed in surprise as he tumbled back on to their bed. Mary was soon on top of him, her fingers pulling his belt free and undoing his trousers.

"Have a go, darling," Mary teased. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead lightly against his, their eyes locking on each other. "If you think you're man enough," she whispered.

The last thing she heard was Matthew's grunt and the tearing of her camisole before all thought was pushed aside in favour of more primal responses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Previously:**

**Downton Abbey, England, October 1914**

"In that case," Mary smiled wickedly, stepping back from him slightly. "Don't be so sure your clothes will survive the night either, darling."

She pushed him backward with both hands. He laughed in surprise as he tumbled back on to their bed. Mary was soon on top of him, her fingers pulling his belt free and undoing his trousers.

"Have a go, darling," Mary teased. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead lightly against his, their eyes locking on each other. "If you think you're man enough," she whispered.

The last thing she heard was Matthew's grunt and the tearing of her camisole before all thought was pushed aside in favour of more primal responses.

**Chapter 2:**

**Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, England, December 1914**

"It seems somewhat less…I don't know…" Matthew frowned, as he glanced around the room.

"Jovial?" Robert smirked.

"Carefree, I was going to say," Matthew smiled. "Everyone seems rather serious."

"If you think this is serious, you should sit in on some of our meetings in the House. It's all funding approvals and resource allocation. For how much we're spending, you would think we could just bribe the Germans to go back where they came from, God in Heaven," Robert grumbled, sipping his brandy.

"If you really want to pay off one of the enemy, try the Ottoman Empire," Matthew said dismissively. "The Turks can't be too principled."

They each took another sip of their drinks.

"I suppose it's admirable that Aunt Rosamund continues to keep up her tradition," Matthew remarked.

"What choice does she have?" Violet huffed. "If she did not host the Winter Season party, she would go a full year without seeing anyone."

Matthew and Robert looked at each other in amusement.

"I'm going to refresh my drink," Matthew announced. "What can I bring you, Cousin Violet?"

"Oh, nothing, thank you. But truly, Matthew, you must learn that servants are tasked with getting drinks. A proper gentleman does not do such things," the Dowager Countess scolded him.

"It's War, Cousin Violet," Matthew smirked, looking at Robert. "We all must do our part."

Robert nodded to his heir as the younger man left them and crossed the ballroom towards the bar.

"War," Violet said caustically. "Wasn't this unfortunate business supposed to be over by Christmas?"

"Mama, when you deal with politicians and armies, nothing ever plays out as predicted," Robert sighed.

"And what about you? Has your commission been reinstated? I thought I would have heard about it by now," Violet asked.

"No, there's been no word," Robert said plainly. "I can't say I'm disappointed. The thought of going over there sounds dreadful, as cowardly as that may sound."

"Hardly," Violet scoffed. "You've carried your country's flag in battle already. Let the younger generation take up the banner until the old guard is required."

Robert looked out on to the ballroom full of guests dancing, mingling and gossiping. It was the height of Winter Season and Rosamund's Belgravia home was immaculate as always. Still the Earl of Grantham could not help but wonder sombrely how many of these same faces he would be seeing in a year's time.

Matthew sipped his club soda slowly, the fizz of the drink bubbling down his throat. He never used to drink club soda. Alex had introduced him to it, his reasoning being that when they were out at a pub or a party of some sort, it was far more advantageous for them to have their faculties about them, rather than become shamefully drunk like the rest of their friends. Over the years, Matthew had put the lesson to good use, balancing the odd club soda among the normal drinks he enjoyed.

And now as he savoured the crisp taste with a hint of lime, he thought of his friend, off in another country fighting a War that was difficult to understand, and even more difficult still to predict. The mighty British Empire was to have vanquished the enemy by now surely? And yet, the news reports were somewhat short on details and the recruiting efforts and propaganda posters seemed to be increasing daily.

His eyes wandered the room, passing by lords and viscounts who were laughing too hard or drinking too much, ladies and countesses who were flirting too openly or rumour mongering. Even though the faces sometimes changed, the crowd that came to Aunt Rosamund's party did not. He dismissed most of them, not bothering to see if he even recognized most of the guests. Finally his eyes came to rest upon his prey and he smirked, even baring his teeth slightly. Dark, perfectly coiffed hair framed by an elegant tiara. Alabaster skin wrapped in a navy blue gown, the scoop neck of the bodice revealing a diamond necklace that matched diamond earrings hanging from delicate lobes, and two diamond rings on a slender gloved finger. Matthew finished his drink and placed it idly on the bar behind him, his eyes never leaving the object of his attention. He slowly moved around the room, approaching her in a circular path.

Mary sipped her champagne. It seemed that Aunt Rosamund's guests were particularly boring this evening. She had endured varying and diverse opinions on the War, the latest government policies and the dreadful weather throughout the past hour. Though she was grateful that her tiara and wedding rings were appropriate shields against the juvenile attempts of the bachelors to flirt with her, she found to her dismay that she was now ushered into a different sphere – the opinions and debates of her parents' generation. While Mary's friends were around and she did spend time with them as she always did, she was pulled into far more debates and discussions than normal. She found to her chagrin that apparently being married meant she was to listen to her Papa's colleagues drone on at every turn.

She had surreptitiously used Edith to extricate herself from the latest group discussion, this time on women in the workforce. Mary was grateful that Edith's opinions had proven useful for once. She now looked out across the ballroom, smiling as the band played on and Society continued its usual dance. War or not, nothing would stop the elites from their traditions and conventions, it seemed.

Mary felt his gaze before she could see him. It was a strange thing, this perception she had. Usually she needed some hint to understand when someone was approaching her. Carson's heavy footsteps, Sybil's giggling, her Papa's brisk gait. With her husband though, it was different. She somehow knew without any indication that he was near. She had felt it even as early as their first meeting, when she would be occupied with her students and she would suddenly look up and catch him staring at her. It continued like this, and over the years, her 'Matthew-sense' seemed to grow sharper. A glance at dinner. Appearing on his bicycle on the horizon from Crawley House. Gazing down at her as she sunbathed on the terrace in Cannes. A hand on her back when they met at the Savoy for tea. It was as though she could see him in her mind before her eyes revealed where he was.

"If it's your intention to sneak up on a Lady, you should be ashamed," she said haughtily, keeping her view facing forward, her lips curled into a smirk.

"I don't think that anyone who wears such a spectacular dress should be complaining about garnering a man's attention," his voice, deep and low and addictively rich and confident floated across her ear and seemed to make her shiver.

"Oh, I was not referring to your attention," she said smoothly, still facing away from him. "I meant that you should be ashamed that you are so utterly horrible at sneaking up on a woman. I could see you approach from across the room."

"Is that so?" he chuckled. She could feel the warmth of him behind her, his breath tickling her neck delightfully. "I find that hard to believe when you were looking in the opposite direction the entire time. I deliberately walked around you so as to approach you from behind."

She rolled her eyes at his insinuation. "Then either you are ungraceful or clumsy, or both. You were hardly inconspicuous."

"Perhaps I was trying to show you how eager I was to be at your side?" Matthew teased.

"So eager that you were tripping over your own feet?" she shot back.

"It would be a convenient excuse to drag you down to the floor," he replied lightly.

"In front of all these people? I think not," Mary retorted.

"Afraid of what an audience would witness you doing?" Matthew said easily. "Or is it that you prefer a darkened parlour to a lit ballroom?"

"What do you think?" Mary replied. "It seems we've visited Aunt Rosamund's parlour several times over the years."

"It's a tradition I am very much looking forward to continuing," Matthew chuckled.

"Careful, sir," Mary smiled. "My husband would not appreciate hearing a man say such scandalous things to me."

"Oh, I don't know," Matthew replied in amusement. "He of all people would appreciate just what emotions you stir in a man."

Mary laughed quietly as his hand travelled to her back, then down to her waist. She finally turned and smirked at him. He kissed her cheek lightly, holding her close to him as they watched the dance in front of them.

"What about it?" Matthew asked.

"Here, or the parlour?" Mary smirked.

"What do you think? The bloody parlour, of course," he said, his eyes betraying his hunger.

"You have a peculiar obsession with being so secretive," Mary grinned. "We're married, Matthew. There's no need for us to have hidden liaisons, like we used to."

"I have no intention of publically displaying what I wish to do with my wife at the moment," Matthew answered. "And since retiring to Grantham House before even Cousin Violet is ready to go home for the evening would raise all manner of gossip, the parlour shall once again serve our purposes."

"Very well," Mary relented, taking his arm. "But don't think that propriety will save you this time, Matthew."

"I could say the same thing to you, darling," he said, raising his eyebrows at her as they walked briskly away from the crowded ballroom.

**Downton Abbey, England, November 1914**

Mary looked up from her book as she heard light footsteps come into the library. She smiled as Sybil appeared through the doorway.

"Oh!" Sybil exclaimed in surprise. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd be upstairs."

"Just because we have our own sitting room does not mean I can't use the rest of the house, Sybil," Mary smirked.

"And your own parlour?" Sybil replied. "I'm surprised that Matthew hasn't built you a private study or library for you to use."

"Well it would be rather inconvenient to transport all of these books to our Wing," Mary said, looking around the room. She looked back and smiled at her sister. "You don't want me to remain in my part of the house all of the time, do you Sybil? Wouldn't you miss me?"

"Of course," Sybil nodded. She crossed the room and glanced at the bookshelves. She sighed absentmindedly before finally retrieving a tome and going over to sit down next to her older sister.

Mary glanced over at Sybil from time to time. Her youngest sister wore a mask of absolute boredom as she flipped the pages of her book.

"Darling," Mary said pointedly. "What is it?"

"What is what?" Sybil asked, looking over at Mary in confusion.

"Why don't you tell me?" Mary asked. "You obviously aren't interested in reading."

"It's the War," Sybil sighed, closing her book and placing it on the coffee table.

"What about it?" Mary asked, lowering her own book to her lap and giving Sybil her attention.

"When Barrow and Branson left last week, it just made it seem more real. As though this was something that could directly affect us," Sybil explained.

"Because we may need to hire a new footman and chauffeur?" Mary asked playfully.

"That's not what I meant. You shouldn't speak so lightly about men risking their lives to fight for our country!" Sybil scolded her.

"They volunteered to enlist, Sybil," Mary said patiently. "Carson tried to talk them out of it, but they insisted on going. It's very patriotic of them, but the consequence of such actions is that their lives are at risk, if they end up at the Front, that is."

"I know," Sybil rolled her eyes. "On the one hand, I think it's gallant and admirable that they are making themselves useful, contributing to the effort. On the other hand, I wonder if their enthusiasm is misplaced."

"I'm quite certain that their enthusiasm is misplaced," Mary stated. "I don't pretend to know what life at the Front is like, but I'm sure it can't be as exciting as those posters and the newspapers make it seem."

"Some of the articles portray it all as a grand mission, like the Crusades," Sybil said.

"They do that on purpose to sell newspapers," Mary said dismissively. "Remember, the Crusades did not always go very well for us."

Sybil sighed and looked out towards the window. Mary regarded her curiously.

"What's really the matter, Sybil?" she asked.

Sybil turned back to her. "When did you know that you loved Matthew?"

"Pardon?" Mary asked in shock.

"When did you know?" Sybil asked again. "When did you come to the realization that he was the only man you wanted, for the rest of your life?"

Mary blinked and remained silent. When did she know she loved Matthew? The moment was very clear in her mind now, but of course it had occurred before he had arrived at Downton Abbey, and so she could not regale her youngest sister with the details, since Sybil and the family all believed that the girls had not met Matthew until his arrival in September 1912.

"Mary? You did realize at some point that you loved Matthew, didn't you?" Sybil asked, looking at her suspiciously.

"Of course I did!" Mary frowned. "I do…I love him, obviously!" She thought quickly, trying to fast forward through all of their beautiful memories until she could find a moment that was closer to their engagement to tell Sybil about.

"Well, then? When was it? It surely wasn't at the beginning, because that first dinner was horrible. Andromeda and Perseus!" Sybil laughed and shook her head.

"I was merely making conversation!" Mary said defensively.

"Oh, I'm sure that you were!" Sybil laughed. "And we all knew who you happened to be calling a sea monster, didn't we?"

Mary rolled her eyes. She then smirked in triumph as a particular image came to her mind.

"If you must know, it was on Valentine's Day," she said curtly.

"Valentine's Day?" Sybil frowned. "You mean when we were here in the library?"

"Yes," Mary smiled slightly, nodding her head. "When he spoke about my flowers."

"The ones that Evelyn Napier sent to you?" Sybil asked.

"The roses," Mary replied. "Matthew said that the man who sent me the roses must have had only the best of intentions. And when I told him that men can be fickle and change their preferences so easily, he objected, saying that men were not nearly as manipulative as I was saying."

"I remember," Sybil smiled. "He said that all a man could hope for was to somehow have your regard, if only for a moment."

"That's right," Mary smiled, looking down at her wedding rings.

"But I don't understand," Sybil continued. "How does Matthew talking about another man sending you flowers lead to you realizing you were in love with him?"

"I didn't realize it right away, Sybil," Mary said patiently. "But when I think about that day and what Matthew said, the flowers are not nearly as memorable as his words. Don't you see? Matthew isn't pompous, or arrogant, or condescending, not when it comes to matters of the heart. He isn't afraid to be open and trusting and vulnerable, and he was willing to do that for me, the one person who would probably ridicule him for such weakness more than anyone. That's how I knew I was in love with him, Sybil, because he wasn't afraid to show himself to me, regardless of the consequences."

"I suppose he can be a romantic," Sybil smirked.

"That isn't all of it, darling," Mary smiled. "Matthew is romantic, yes, but it's more than that."

"I wish I could understand that feeling, Mary," Sybil sighed.

"Understand what, exactly?" Mary asked.

"What it is to know that you're sure about another person the way you are about Cousin Matthew," Sybil explained.

"Sybil, you just had your debut," Mary said. "There's no rush. I'm a testament to the fact that waiting may in fact be a far better strategy."

"There were a few boys that I met during my Season that were charming," Sybil said slowly. "But there was nothing else to them beyond their titles and their pedigrees and trying to impress me with what they would inherit from their fathers. I found all of them quite boring."

Mary laughed. "Admittedly, the Season does not give one very much opportunity to properly get to know someone."

"Still," Sybil rolled her eyes. "I wonder if there isn't someone out there who is far better suited for me, someone who isn't the typical man that Mama would want for me. Just like with you and Cousin Matthew."

"Well, be careful, Sybil. Remember, Matthew and I were pushed at each other in one way or another from the moment he arrived," Mary said.

"But he isn't one of us," Sybil complained. "That is what is so wonderful about him, isn't it? There's more to him than just a title and money."

Mary smirked. "That's true."

Sybil sighed again and looked down at her lap.

"Darling, you shouldn't be so concerned. You'll meet someone truly wonderful someday, I am convinced of it. But you needn't be so set on your idea of who this person may be, or where he may come from. It's true that a man's title is not what is most important, but at the same time, while a title does not mean a man is smart and funny and engaging, it does not mean he isn't, either."

"I suppose," Sybil acknowledged. "I guess I am just concerned because with so many men going off to War, I wonder if I am losing the chance to find the man who is meant for me."

"I don't know, Sybil," Mary said kindly. "But perhaps you should not try to force the matter. You know, the most wonderful things appear to you when you are least expecting them."

Sybil smiled. "Matthew has changed you," she grinned. "You never were so optimistic before."

"I'm not now either," Mary huffed. "I'm only pointing out that you can take your time, is all."

"Thank you, darling," Sybil smiled, and they both resumed their reading.

**Brown's Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, March 1915**

"You'd be surprised how difficult it is to get a decent cup of tea at the Western Front," he said.

Matthew sipped his tea and smiled. It seemed so normal. Sitting in this restaurant, in this hotel, during a London afternoon. They could have been meeting to discuss files, or clients, other lawyers, gossip from the Courts or from Parliament. He would ask about Mary of course, and Matthew would happily oblige, telling him about how she had finished decorating the parlour, and how well the new Estate management was going, even with Robert still reluctant to put both feet into the effort. There would be the usual jokes about when Mary and Matthew would get around to producing an heir to the Grantham line, or whether they had found a suitable wife for him. A normal conversation, on a normal afternoon, between long time friends.

Nothing was normal anymore, however.

"I'm surprised that you haven't established a supply line for such things, Captain," Matthew smirked. "I would think that having your proper blend would be near the top of the list, after ammunition and armour."

"Not everyone listens to my recommendations in the Army, Matthew," Alex smiled, sipping his tea once more. "I've made it my mission to bring an ample stock back with me next week."

Matthew nodded, the gravity of the moment hitting him once more. Next week. Next week, Alex's leave would be over and he would return to War. Alex's visits were usually brief, of course, even before the War. With Matthew in the Ripon office and Alex in London, they saw each other once or twice a month at most. The difference, of course, was that Matthew always knew the next time he would see Alex once their visits were over. Now, he was not nearly as certain.

"Have you been reading about the unfortunate business in the Dardanelles?" Alex asked.

Matthew's eyes widened. "It's illegal to discuss the War in public, Alex. Remember, I'm just a citizen."

Alex rolled his eyes. "I hardly think we're at risk, Matthew. Wasn't it you who told me this place is known for its discretion?"

Matthew chuckled and glanced over at the entrance to the restaurant, then looked back at his friend.

"Details in the newspapers are light," he replied. "Which makes me think things did not go very well at all."

"I think that Winnie had some poor information," Alex sighed. "The ships were mainly obsolete already anyway, so it wasn't as great a loss as it could have been. Still, we were relying on the naval campaign to weaken the Turks enough so that the land offensive would be a mere formality."

"And now?" Matthew asked.

"Well, with the ships having retreated, we'll have to attack by land, probably next month," Alex answered.

"But you'll go back to France, won't you?" Matthew asked.

"Yes," Alex nodded. "There's no place for me or my men in Turkey. Probably a good thing, really, although the weather must be better than the cold slop we've had to live with in the trenches."

Matthew nodded and looked away. Alex was his usual charming self on the surface. His wit and sarcasm had not dulled at all. There was something different about him, though. He seemed tired to Matthew, the exuberance and confidence that he normally carried was muted now, as though he was drained in some way.

"Any idea when it might be over?" Matthew asked.

Alex pursed his lips and glanced over at the window. He stared out into the busy street for several moments.

"Not the faintest clue," he said quietly, still looking away. "I don't think it shall be anytime soon, though."

"Try and get it done sooner rather than later," Matthew said, trying to sound cheerful. "The longer this continues, they may get desperate and ask me to go."

Alex turned back to his friend and smiled.

"If it ever reaches that point, Matthew, then all hope is truly lost," he said.

They smiled and nodded in understanding.

"Besides, your place is here, Matthew," Alex said plainly. "With your wife and your family."

"Do you not think I could manage being a soldier, then?" Matthew retorted.

"You'd be fine," Alex nodded. "However, I know your honour will keep you here, with Lady Mary. Your duty to her is stronger than your duty to King and country."

Matthew laughed and shook his head.

"I hope you'll enjoy dinner," Matthew said, changing the subject. "Mary was rather particular with the menu."

"I told both of you that there was no need to go to such trouble," Alex shook his head.

"You know us," Matthew smirked. "We're always concerned about our War hero."

Alex huffed.

"Besides," Matthew continued. "I always enjoy any excuse to have a proper Beef Wellington."

"I assume Lady Mary has invited her friends to Grantham House tonight?" Alex asked.

"What makes you say that?" Matthew asked.

"Your wife has a penchant for parading her eligible friends around whenever I am invited over, it seems," Alex smirked.

"Mary's friends are…nice," Matthew said, searching for an appropriate word.

"They're lovely," Alex smiled. "I'm afraid that my marriage prospects are on hold for the moment though."

"It isn't as though marriage has been banned during the War, Alex," Matthew frowned pointedly.

"No, but being in another country for the foreseeable future is not necessarily the proper foundation for a marriage," Alex replied easily.

"Well, then consider this evening a chance to temporarily slip back into London Society, then," Matthew said. "A form of respite, if you will."

"Very well," Alex nodded. "I'll put on a brave face, but only as a courtesy to you and your wife."

"Good," Matthew nodded. He looked down at his wristwatch. "You had best practise your pleasantries now."

Alex rose from the table with Matthew as Mary and her sisters were escorted to their table.

"Darling," Mary smiled, placing her hands in her husband's and offering him her cheek for a pleasant kiss.

"Alex, welcome home," Edith smiled politely as Alex kissed her hand. He repeated the gesture with Sybil and finally with Mary as they all greeted each other before sitting down.

"Thank you for joining us, Lady Mary, Lady Edith, Lady Sybil," Alex said smoothly. "It's good to be among friends."

**Dower House, Downton Village, England, January 1915**

"Bombs dropped over England, can you imagine?" Cora shook her head.

"I have no understanding of how they even reached King's Lynn," Violet sighed. "It's remarkably close to London, isn't it?"

"They say that there may be a secret German base in The Lakes," Sybil said nervously.

"And who are 'they' pray?" Mary rolled her eyes. "That's just a rumour, Sybil."

"Well the bombs were real," Edith said pointedly. "People died."

"Well, then let's just hope that Yorkshire serves no military or strategic purpose so as to attract attention," Mary replied.

"I'm surprised that Matthew hasn't enlisted yet," Cora said. "Isobel says that most of his friends back in Manchester formed their own battalion."

"Not every man needs to go to War, Mama," Mary answered. "Matthew has plenty of responsibility already at home."

"In any event, he's married," Edith said. "It's the single men who enlist more than anyone else."

"I don't see why," Violet said. "Married men have as much reason to go to War."

"Because married men are just as patriotic?" Sybil asked.

"No, my dear. Because married men have many reasons to want to leave England, perhaps more than single men do," Violet replied.

"Oh, Granny," Mary rolled her eyes.

They all sipped their tea and sat in comfortable silence for several moments.

"Speaking of giving Matthew a reason not to go away," Cora began.

"Mama, not again…" Mary sighed in exasperation.

"Mary, you've been married for over a year now," Cora noted.

"Yes, and I know you feel it should be my life's ambition to have children, that I won't be worth anything until I give Matthew a son," Mary rolled her eyes.

"That's not what I meant to say," Cora said defensively.

"It isn't?" Violet questioned. "Why not, when it is so true?"

"Granny!" Sybil exclaimed.

"Oh, make no mistake, Mary's worth is unquestioned. But, if she were to have a son, the next heir to the Earl of Grantham, well, that would be a lovely bit of news," Violet nodded.

"Please tell me that you've at least thought about it," Cora pleaded.

"How could I not when you've been reminding me for months now?" Mary complained.

"And what does Matthew think of all this talk of babies and heirs?" Edith asked.

"He's fine with it happening when nature intends," Mary smiled. "He's not nearly as eager as Mama, I assure you."

"That's because he's too honourable to pressure you," Cora said. "But Mary, you need to be more attentive to this."

"And how exactly is Mary not being attentive to having a baby?" Edith smirked. "Do you need to gauge if she's making sufficient efforts, Mama?"

"Edith!" Sybil scolded her.

Mary just quirked her eyebrows and smirked along with Edith. It was rare that they were on the same side, but they could at least agree that they did not enjoy it when their Mama became too preoccupied with their personal lives.

"This subject is no longer available for conversation," Mary declared. "When I'm pregnant, you'll all be informed, if only to spare Matthew and I the repeated inquiries."

**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1915**

"That turned out quite well, wouldn't you say?" Mary asked as she rubbed cream into her hands.

"The dinner was delicious, yes," Matthew nodded, leaning against the bed post as he watched his wife finish her nightly rituals.

"If you're expecting Alex to propose to any of your friends before he goes back to the Front, I'm sorry to tell you that you will be left disappointed once again, darling," he smiled.

"That's hardly unexpected," Mary sighed, frowning at him in the reflection of the vanity mirror. "Still, if we gave him sufficient distraction so he can enjoy his leave a little more, then I am glad for that."

"He did seem to enjoy himself," Matthew nodded. "Hopefully this time is a comfort to him when he goes back."

"Did he mention anything about how it was all progressing? Does he think it will end soon?" Mary asked.

Matthew exhaled. "Unfortunately, no. He can't be sure of course, he's only involved in one battle of many, but he doesn't think it will resolve itself very quickly."

"Bombings in Norfolk, news reports of all these different campaigns and battles, so much has changed in such a short time," Mary shook her head.

"I sometimes wonder if the men who went over there think it's all been worth it, and whether the men signing up every day wonder the same thing," Matthew thought aloud.

Mary rose from her vanity and came into his arms. She kissed him softly, her arms wrapping around his neck.

"I don't care if this sounds unpatriotic, but I'm glad you're still here," she smiled.

"Of course I am," Matthew smirked, his hands going around her waist. "Where else would I be but by your side?"

"You flatter me," she remarked. "Is this an attempt to seduce your wife?"

"What do you think?" Matthew smirked, then kissed her neck. His hand slid up her bare arm and pulled one strap of her nightgown down and away, allowing him to kiss her bare shoulder.

"Seduction seems unlike you, darling," Mary smiled. Her eyes closed slightly and she smirked as she held on to his back, her skin tingling delightfully as his lips travelled across her body.

"You think that I'm too polite to want to manoeuvre a woman into bed?" he asked in a low voice, smiling against her skin as he pressed her closer to him.

"It's not a question of being too polite," Mary gasped slightly as her husband's hands became more bold. He clutched at her, leaving no doubt of his intentions.

"You just think that I'm too honourable to demand…things," he said, his voice sending a tremor through her.

"Are you saying that you're not honourable?" Mary breathed out quickly as she felt how aroused her husband truly was.

She yelped as he picked her up off the ground effortlessly. His hands reached under her thighs to support her weight. Her hands slid across his back, holding him close to her. Her legs squeezed around his waist.

"I'm not honourable all of the time," Matthew growled. "Not when it comes to you."

Mary let out a deep chuckle as they fell to the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Previously:**

**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1915**

"You just think that I'm too honourable to demand…things," he said, his voice sending a tremor through her.

"Are you saying that you're not honourable?" Mary breathed out quickly as she felt how aroused her husband truly was.

She yelped as he picked her up off the ground effortlessly. His hands reached under her thighs to support her weight. Her hands slid across his back, holding him close to her. Her legs squeezed around his waist.

"I'm not honourable all of the time," Matthew growled. "Not when it comes to you."

Mary let out a deep chuckle as they fell to the bed.

**Chapter 3:**

**Downton Abbey, England, April 1915**

"A ban on alcohol? What in God's name is this world coming to?" Robert shook his head.

"King George says that drunkenness is getting in the way of productivity," Sybil replied. "By limiting the hours of public houses and reducing the availability of alcohol, the government wants the people to be able to work harder."

"Yes, I am aware of that, my dear," Robert sighed. "That doesn't mean it makes any sense."

"Well, the Prime Minister seems to agree with you," Edith smirked. "He says that Lloyd George has completely lost his head."

"He's probably right, although not necessarily about the alcohol measure," Robert said, folding his newspaper and putting it down.

"My Lord," Carson announced as he carried a silver tray into the morning room.

"Yes, Carson, the mail?" Robert asked.

"Yes, my Lord. Her Ladyship has already taken her letters in her room," the butler answered. He placed the tray in front of the Earl, who took the letters and the blade to open them.

"This one is for you, Sir," Carson said, handing a letter to Matthew.

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew said, waiting patiently before taking the blade from Robert and opening his own letter.

"A letter for you?" Mary asked. "Whoever is it from?"

"A friend back in Manchester," Matthew said. He read over the letter and frowned. Getting to the end, he placed it down on the table and sighed audibly.

"Matthew?" Mary asked.

"It's about some of my old schoolmates," Matthew said wearily. "They formed a battalion last September. They all perished at Gallipoli last month."

Sybil gasped and brought her hand to her mouth in shock.

"I'm terribly sorry, Matthew," Robert said.

"Thank you," Matthew nodded. "If you'll all excuse me." He rose from his chair and quickly left the room, running his hand through his hair in agitation.

Mary watched him go, a concerned look on her face. She placed her napkin on the table.

"We'll see you all at luncheon," she said quickly before going after Matthew.

Sybil and Edith exchanged worried glances.

* * *

She found him in their sitting room. He sat on the sofa, staring off into space, the letter still in his hands. She closed the door behind her and came and sat down next to him. He did not acknowledge her presence. She reached over and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. Still Matthew did not move.

Mary sat next to him in silence. She knew better than to disturb him when he was in these moods. She moved her hand down his head to his shoulders, rubbing light circles into his back.

Matthew stared into the carpet, his eyes unfocused, his senses dulled. The letter fell from his hands, his fingers not bothering to hold it. He felt his wife's touch and he breathed deeply, grateful for her presence. The words were stuck in his mind, jumbled and disorganized.

After several long moments, he reached over and took Mary's hand in his, squeezing it gently. She placed their joined hands in her lap, continuing to massage his back.

"I wasn't that close with all of them," he muttered. "It's been years since we've seen each other. After I left Manchester, we didn't really keep in touch. Truthfully, I hadn't talked to them too often even when I was still living there."

"But if you were still in Manchester, you would have joined up with them," Mary said quietly.

Matthew nodded. He exhaled slowly.

"It was supposed to be over by Christmas, that's what everyone kept saying," he said in almost a whisper. "They only needed volunteers because the Army had been reduced in numbers through all the government reforms. It wasn't as if any of them would see any real fighting."

"You didn't think that they would be in danger," Mary said. "You didn't think any of this was real."

"I read the reports and heard the news, of course," Matthew nodded. "But with so much being censored, it was supposed to be business as usual. Even the bombings weren't anything to be worried about. They happened hundreds of miles away."

"Darling," Mary said firmly. "There's nothing you could have done. They chose to go on their own. If you had gone along with them, there's no telling what would have happened."

"I know," Matthew agreed. "I just wonder sometimes if…"

"If what?" Mary asked with concern.

"I wonder if I shouldn't be over there fighting, or doing…something…contributing somehow. My friends gave their lives for King and Country. Why am I still here, living in luxury while others do more to stand up for our freedom?"

"It isn't a competition, Matthew," Mary said gently. "You don't need to be a soldier to prove your worth."

Matthew turned to her, his eyes wet and his face pale.

"I've seen the looks, you know? When I'm in the Village, even in London. There's always a sideways glance or a frown of some sort. People look at me and I can't help but think of what they are asking themselves. 'Here's a strapping young man. Why is he here walking around without a care in the world? Why isn't he over there with the lads?'"

"Not everyone can go, Matthew," Mary said, her own voice becoming shaky. "It's not as if all the men are to go off fighting while the women stay home and the country runs itself. This isn't the Middle Ages. There's a need for men to stay home as well. Like Papa. Like you."

"I don't know what use a lawyer is at the moment when young men are dying in France and Belgium," Matthew huffed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Do you feel that you need to go to War to have a purpose? To have value? Because that is absolute rubbish," Mary said fiercely. "You're needed here. I need you here."

Matthew turned to her again. He reached up and took her face in his hands. He leaned forward and kissed her softly and tenderly.

"I need you, Mary," he whispered. "I can't stand the idea of leaving you behind. Not after everything we've been through. But I'm worried that this blasted War isn't over yet, and doesn't show any signs of stopping. Every day it seems we hear reports of some other family that we know losing a son. A day may come when I'm called, Mary. I didn't want to think about it at all but it's possible."

"We'll deal with it if and when it happens," Mary said, caressing his hands. "For now, you're not going anywhere."

"Yes, my Lady," Matthew smiled bravely, kissing her again.

**Office of the First Lord of the Admiralty, Palace of Westminster, London, England, November 1914**

"Ah, Matthew. You have my reports?" the First Lord asked, putting his hand out.

"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded, taking a folder of papers out of his briefcase and handing it to him.

"Excellent," Churchill said, leafing through the documents. "Production is steady and supply appears to be unaffected by the turmoil in the area. That's very good."

"If you don't mind, sir, why is it necessary for the reports to flow through our office? Surely you could have them delivered here?" Matthew asked.

"There's fewer eyes watching your office, Matthew," Churchill replied, not looking up. "Besides, I would think you would enjoy coming to Parliament. We always could use another lawyer around here," he said wryly.

"Indeed," Matthew smirked.

"Have you heard from Alex?" Churchill asked, placing the folder on his desk and walking to the window.

"He's written, but I expect he's quite busy with his battalion, sir," Matthew said.

"Yes, that sounds right. He's being made a Captain. A fine job he's doing over there. Very fine. I wish I had more like him," Churchill mused, looking out the window.

"We all look forward to him coming home, sir," Matthew said.

"And so you should, Matthew," Churchill replied, his back to him. "I don't know if Christmas is such an accurate estimate anymore, but we're making progress. I think there is a way for us to cripple the Turks, and that would open up numerous avenues for us."

"I hope your campaign finds success, sir," Matthew said.

"And what about you, Matthew? Haven't thought of volunteering yet, have you?" Churchill asked, turning towards him.

"No, sir. I'm not a soldier. Besides, I don't think the Army needs my help," Matthew said deprecatingly.

"Well, there are numerous ways to help the Army," Churchill mused, looking at Matthew with a look of appraisal. "In any event, we can't have all of those from the nobility and the higher professions going over. That would make too many officers and not enough soldiers!"

Matthew smiled uneasily at the First Lord's joke.

"If your time does come, Matthew," Churchill said, becoming serious. "Be sure to ask for a commission. You need not be stuck as a foot soldier in the trenches. You could better serve His Majesty in command, I think."

"Thank you, sir. However, I wouldn't know the first thing to do," Matthew said.

"Necessity is the mother of invention, Matthew. Remember that," Churchill answered, turning his back once again.

"But things are going…well…aren't they, sir?" Matthew asked quietly. "There's no cause for concern, is there?"

"Oh, it's business as usual, Matthew," Churchill said firmly. "Business as usual."

When Matthew left Westminster later that afternoon, his driver took a roundabout route back to Grantham House. They passed several long lines of men signing up for the Army at recruiting stations in the city. Matthew looked out at these volunteers thoughtfully, his mind asking dozens of questions as he witnessed their bravado and bluster, their eyes bright with purpose and motivation.

"One great adventure," Matthew murmured, his eyes scanning the line of men preparing to go off to War.

**Drewe Farm, Downton Village, England, May 1915**

"In return for overseeing the pigs, you'll receive a credit towards your outstanding rent arrears, and eventually once you're back to the good, we'll pay you a fair wage that you'll keep for yourself," Matthew explained.

"He is rather eager, isn't he, my Lord?" Mr. Drewe smiled at Robert.

Robert smirked, trying to remain composed. "Matthew is very thorough, and he has detailed plans for what we want to do with the land going forward. We're quite pleased we can use you in this endeavour."

"Of course, my Lord!" Mr. Drewe laughed. "Our families have been working this land for generations. It's only proper that we play a part in moving things forward. I don't quite know what Mr. Crawley here hopes to accomplish, but if it's a pig man you need, I shall fit the bill!"

"Very well," Matthew smiled, trying to stop himself from laughing at the man's enthusiasm. "We expect the pigs to arrive later next week. We'll notify you and you can come meet them."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Crawley. It is a bit of a shame though, isn't it, my Lord, about Taylor I mean. He's been here almost as long as we have," Mr. Drewe noted.

"Well, it can't be helped," Robert said, looking down at the floor. "He can't keep up with all the work required to maintain his farm, and his children have gone off to War. Better to have him in a cottage and for us to use the land."

"If you say so, my Lord. Still, I remember when Taylor would move them sheep around. He practically had them on parade!"

Matthew sat back and observed as his father-in-law and Mr. Drewe shared tea and old stories about farming the land around Downton Abbey. Robert remembered coming out to these same properties as a child with his father. Mr. Drewe recalled a particular tale of a young Viscount Grantham paying visits to them with Jarvis to get an idea of how they were getting on.

Matthew sighed in understanding as he watched Robert speaking animatedly as each story was told. Perhaps his father-in-law was not the most astute of investors, and perhaps he had a penchant for being too ambitious and believing he could make miracles where none were to be had, but here, among his tenants, he was in his element. The numbers may have eluded Robert. They came easily to Matthew, and that was not a condemnation of the Earl. The relationships and ability to gauge another man based merely on memories and shared history was a real skill, and Matthew saw now that joy that Robert took in using it.

Matthew sat quietly and allowed the Earl to indulge in some nostalgia. While Matthew calculated the possible return on the first group of pigs in his mind, Robert laughed and nodded as Mr. Drewe began another tale.

**Law Office of Harvell, Carter & Lewis, Ripon, England, June 1915**

"A letter for you, Mr. Crawley," the assistant said. "It's from Captain Lewis."

"Thank you," Matthew said quickly, taking the envelope and slicing it open. He frowned as he pulled out the letter. Alex did not usually write to him in Ripon. If he needed to reach him, he could send a message to Downton Abbey as he usually did.

Matthew perused the letter, his brow furrowed as he took in the contents. He read it over several times to be sure, as if somehow the message would change the more he repeated it. He finally placed the letter down on his desk and stared at it, his mind working away at a scenario he dared not contemplate.

Matthew looked over at the calendar he kept on his desk. He flipped the pages, counting the days and weeks remaining in the year. He frowned again as he mentally calculated various timelines and schedules. Based on Alex's information, his slowly forming plan was possible, but included all manner of issues.

Matthew glanced from the calendar to the framed portrait of Mary. She looked back at him with bright eyes and a slight curl to her lips. He remembered when they had sat for portraits with the rest of the family. This one was one of the last taken that day, when Mary insisted on sitting as she had been on her feet for most of the time. When Matthew whispered to her that he intended to bring this one to the office, she had given a subtle playful glance to the formal picture. She now greeted him each morning when he arrived at his office and bid him good night each evening when he left.

Matthew sighed as he stared at his wife. He finally rose from his desk and went out to the hall to give his assistant instructions. His plan was hardly reliable or foolproof, but what choice did he have?

**Downton Abbey, England, July 1915**

"What do you think?" Matthew asked.

Mary looked over the papers once more. "It's a lot to take in," she said finally. "We're making some money, that's positive at least."

"I agree," Matthew smiled, sipping his tea. "It's early days still, but we're already on the way to recouping our initial investment, which is good news."

"Sir, my Lady, His Lordship is currently away and there is a matter that requires your immediate attention," Carson said, standing stiffly in the doorway.

"That sounds serious," Mary said wryly. "What is it, Carson?"

Carson swallowed and frowned, then stepped aside to allow the visitor who had been standing behind him to enter the parlour.

"Branson!" Matthew exclaimed, rising from his seat.

Sybil's eyes widened and she looked up from her needlepoint.

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked. "Have you been granted leave already? You should have written to let us know."

"No, my Lady. Well, that is, I have been granted a leave of sorts," Branson replied, looking at the ground.

Mary looked at Matthew in confusion.

"Branson? What is it? Why are you back here?" Matthew asked.

Branson looked at Carson and nodded. Carson walked over and handed a letter to Matthew. Matthew read it over quickly and frowned. He passed it to Mary.

"Sybil, Edith, please leave the room so we can speak with Branson in private," Matthew said calmly.

Edith frowned. Sybil rose from the couch.

"But why? Surely it isn't so serious that absolute secrecy is required?" Edith asked.

"Edith, I apologize for acting so authoritatively, but as Cousin Robert isn't here, the responsibility falls to me to deal with this. I am quite certain that if he were here, your father would not allow you to be in the room, and so I am asking you…politely…to leave with your sister," Matthew said, looking at Edith imploringly.

"Very well," Edith said, her eyes wide and her voice somewhat shaky. "Come, Sybil."

Edith had to take Sybil by the hand and lead her out of the room. Sybil stole a glance at Branson as she passed him. Branson continued to look down at the floor.

"Carson, see to it that we are not disturbed. You may wait outside," Matthew said.

"Yes, Sir," Carson nodded. He looked at Branson for a moment before leaving and closing the door behind him.

"Have a seat," Matthew said, motioning to a chair. Branson came over and sat down.

Matthew paced behind him, his hands clasped behind his back. Mary sat back down on the sofa, looking at Branson closely.

"Is it true?" Matthew asked, stopping behind Branson.

"That I'm Irish? Yes, of course," Branson replied.

"This will go far more easily if you dispense with both your attitude and your flippant remarks," Matthew shot back.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley, sir," Branson said nervously, looking down again.

"You have a heart murmur," Matthew stated, glancing over at Mary before he continued. "That is cause enough for dismissal from the Army. There is no shame in that, and we would welcome you back into this House gladly. However, this second point," Matthew paused. "Is it true that you refused active military service as an objection to British policy?"

"Yes," Branson nodded.

"You are aware that objecting to serve does not in fact apply to volunteers? If you wish to object, you need not volunteer in the first place?" Matthew asked.

"I am aware of that now, sir," Branson replied.

"Do you expect your position on the dispute between Ireland and Britain to affect your ability to do your duties to this family and in this House?" Matthew asked.

"It has not been a problem before, sir," Branson answered.

"That wasn't what Mr. Crawley was asking," Mary said.

Branson swallowed.

"You are well aware that His Lordship is a Colonel in His Majesty's Army. As this unfortunate War continues, it is highly likely that we will be hosting officers at dinner, soldiers at different events and functions. There will be British uniforms within this House rather frequently. Some of your fellow servants have gone to War, and others are likely to do so in the future. If we cannot trust you to interact with these people and to do your job properly, I see no reason to accept you back," Matthew stated.

Branson swallowed again.

"Do you expect your position on the dispute between Ireland and Britain to affect your ability to do your duties to this family and in this House?" Matthew repeated.

"No, Mr. Crawley, sir," Branson said quietly.

"And you are well aware that should we suspect, or discover, that you are engaged in any activity whatsoever that could be deemed to be subversive, against the interests of Britain and His Majesty, or in any way a possible stain on the reputation of this family and this House, we shall have no choice but to have your summarily dismissed, and possibly arrested?" Matthew said, coming around and looking at Branson pointedly.

Branson looked up at Matthew and met his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley, sir. I understand," Branson nodded.

Matthew smirked and extended his hand.

"Good. Welcome home, Branson. We have missed you," he said.

Branson blinked, then quickly rose to his feet and shook Matthew's hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley, sir, thank you," Branson smiled. "And thank you, my Lady," Branson said, looking over at Mary.

Mary nodded politely in acknowledgment.

Matthew called Carson back into the room and announced that Branson was returning and that he was to be seen to his old quarters and settled. Given the commotion of his return, Matthew allowed Branson to have the rest of the day off, and to resume his duties as chauffeur the following day, with a revised schedule to accommodate the other driver that the family had taken on after Branson had left for War. Carson stood stoically as he received his instructions, then motioned for Branson to leave in front of him before following behind.

"Carson doesn't like him," Mary smirked once they were alone again.

"Of course he doesn't," Matthew sighed, walking over to her side. "He thinks he's a traitor just because he's Irish. And the letter does not exactly put him in a very favourable light either."

"Do you think he's harmless?" Mary asked.

"For now, yes," Matthew answered. "I think he got caught up in the mood to go to War, then when he got to training he realized that he would be doing something that was against his own beliefs, and that ultimately led him to try to find a way out. The heart murmur's convenient, really. Otherwise, he may have had to desert, or worse."

"I don't know if Papa will be pleased with your decision. He never liked Branson to begin with," Mary said.

"My decision, was it?" Matthew turned to her incredulously. "I didn't hear any vociferous objections from my wife on the matter."

"You're Joint-Master," Mary smirked. "It's my duty to obey and support your decisions. I'm just a woman after all."

"You sly minx," Matthew laughed, moving towards her and reaching out his arms.

"Stop it! Matthew!" Mary hissed, backing up several paces. "We're in the parlour! Anyone could come in at any moment!"

"Haven't you heard, darling? I'm Joint-Master. I can do as I please," he raised his eyebrow before grabbing his wife around her waist and pulling her towards him.

"Matthew!" Mary laughed, slapping his chest lightly as he kissed her neck again and again.

"You would stand by and watch me interrogate Branson, then accept him back, remaining silent the entire time, then throw me to your father at the first hint of disagreement?" Matthew growled, tickling her sides.

"You must learn to live with the consequences of your decisions, Master Crawley," Mary laughed, shrieking as Matthew tickled her further.

"Perhaps you need to be taught how to be more supportive, Mary," Matthew said lowly, kissing her lips and pulling her closer to him.

"Mmm, I can be a very stubborn student, Matthew," Mary replied, kissing him back.

"Ahem, pardon me…" a voice called quietly.

"Sybil!" Mary cried, pushing Matthew back forcefully. He stumbled backward a few steps, then righted himself and pulled his vest down to reorganize his clothing.

"I was just wondering what you decided about Branson, Cousin Matthew," Sybil said.

"Why? Do you need to be driven somewhere?" Mary asked.

"No," Sybil shook her head. "I was just curious. If he isn't going to War, then I wanted to know what would become of him."

"Why is it any concern of yours?" Mary asked.

"I…" Sybil stammered.

"He is coming back, yes," Matthew nodded. "He has a medical condition that prevents from being a soldier. As anyone's health is a private matter, we felt it necessary to speak to Branson in private. The circumstances of his return are no one's business except for those with whom he wishes to share them. It's enough to know he's returned a chauffeur, effective tomorrow."

"And do you think Papa will be agreeable to that?" Sybil asked.

"I'm sure he'll think it's fine. The only reason Branson ever left was to become a solider, otherwise he would still be working here. Now that he is no longer a soldier, it is perfectly reasonable that he continue this employment here as if nothing ever happened," Matthew said confidently.

"Wouldn't you agree, dear?" Matthew asked, looking at Mary.

Mary glared at Matthew, then smiled brightly at her sister.

"Of course. Branson's back and we're all glad for it. Papa will be pleased to have another driver I'm sure," Mary said.

Sybil nodded.

"Why don't you go and get Edith and tell her that it's all right for her to return. We can spend a few more moments before luncheon," Matthew said.

"All right," Sybil nodded and left to get her sister.

"Are you satisfied now?" Mary glared at him. "My youngest sister just witnessed you accosting your wife in the middle of the day!"

"As opposed to in the middle of the night?" Matthew retorted. "Besides, I would hardly call that accosting! Accosting implies that my advances are unwelcome, and based on what your hands were doing, I would hardly say you were protesting."

Mary blushed. "I was merely trying to keep myself upright in the face of your assault," she said plainly.

"You chose a rather specific place to hold on to for support, then," Matthew said pointedly.

"I grabbed for the firmest thing I could get my hands on," Mary whispered, blushing deeply and biting her lower lip.

"Apparently," Matthew said ruefully. "And as a result, I will need to sit down until luncheon."

Mary laughed as he took a seat on the sofa. She sat down next to him and regained her composure by the time Edith and Sybil returned.

* * *

"Well, that wasn't a complete disaster," Mary said as she rose from her vanity.

"You had to expect he would object, even if it was only for show," Matthew said, removing his robe. "The fact that any decision was made while he was away is cause enough for him to be disagreeable, but in the end he came around quite quickly."

"Papa does enjoy putting on a show," Mary laughed. "I think he somehow believes it will keep you in your place if he scares you every once in a while."

"Well, it isn't working, but I'm quite all right with him continuing to believe so if it will keep the peace," Matthew replied.

He eased himself into bed and turned on to his side. Mary smiled at him as she slipped under the covers and slid over to him. She pressed her hand to his cheek and kissed him softly.

"Papa was in a rather sour mood, even for him," Mary noted. "His meetings must not have went well."

"I imagine it was more of the same," Matthew sighed. "Funding approvals for the Army, and depressing reports on how no progress has been made."

"I know it's only been a few months, but I was somehow hoping this coalition government would make some real progress," Mary said.

"Politicians don't win a War. They can only lose one," Matthew stated.

"Have you heard from Churchill?" Mary asked.

"Just a brief letter after his resignation," Matthew shook his head. "He wanted to ensure that production and supply remained on the same level. He's still got a hand in the operation, but since he isn't First Lord any longer, he won't have much impact on policy or decisions."

"What do you think he'll do? His reputation is rather stained by Gallipoli," Mary noted.

"He'll manage," Matthew smiled. "We all will."

"About your accosting me earlier today," Mary smirked, running her hand down his bare chest and below the blankets.

"Yes?" Matthew swallowed, his eyes widening.

"It was quite improper of you," she said, looking at him knowingly.

"My apologies, my Lady," Matthew gasped sharply as her fingers moved below the waistband of his pyjama pants.

"Words are not sufficient, Matthew," Mary said with false seriousness. "I believe to truly learn your lesson, you need to feel what it's like to be ravaged in such a fashion. Only then will you truly feel remorse. Don't you agree?"

"Yes!" Matthew cried quickly. His mouth hung open and his breathing quickened.

"Good," Mary smiled wickedly. "Let's see how well you play the victim, Matthew."

She kissed him hard and stifled his groan as she moved on top of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Previously:**

**Downton Abbey, England, July 1915**

"Have you heard from Churchill?" Mary asked.

"Just a brief letter after his resignation," Matthew shook his head. "He wanted to ensure that production and supply remained on the same level. He's still got a hand in the operation, but since he isn't First Lord any longer, he won't have much impact on policy or decisions."

"What do you think he'll do? His reputation is rather stained by Gallipoli," Mary noted.

"He'll manage," Matthew smiled. "We all will."

"About your accosting me earlier today," Mary smirked, running her hand down his bare chest and below the blankets.

"Yes?" Matthew swallowed, his eyes widening.

"It was quite improper of you," she said, looking at him knowingly.

"My apologies, my Lady," Matthew gasped sharply as her fingers moved below the waistband of his pyjama pants.

"Words are not sufficient, Matthew," Mary said with false seriousness. "I believe to truly learn your lesson, you need to feel what it's like to be ravaged in such a fashion. Only then will you truly feel remorse. Don't you agree?"

"Yes!" Matthew cried quickly. His mouth hung open and his breathing quickened.

"Good," Mary smiled wickedly. "Let's see how well you play the victim, Matthew."

She kissed him hard and stifled his groan as she moved on top of him.

**Chapter 4:**

**British Military Training Camp, Ripon, England, November 1915**

Wilfred Chaplin wheezed and huffed as he continued to run. His legs felt as though they would give out any second and the rain was not helping at all. His pack was heavy to begin with, but the rain seemed to soak into the fabric, adding additional weight that he was not accustomed to carrying. Sure, he was used to robust work. He had spent the majority of his 18 years working the family farm. But that usually involved hauling and carrying loads for brief periods, or using the horses and wagons to transport whatever was needed. He was not used to running and running and running without stop.

His fellow soldiers trudged on ahead of him. He was the new boy, the rookie, the amateur. Many of these men had already seen service before. While they were technically reserve soldiers, in practice they were anything but. They all trained regularly and met every few weekends to go over basic manoeuvres and drills. Now that Britain was at War and more soldiers were needed, this unit was called to arms once more.

When Wilfred had been assigned to the North Riding Volunteers, he was told that they were made up of men like him from across Yorkshire. Honest, hard working, and fiercely loyal. Now, as he stumbled through the end of the training run, he wasn't so sure that he was cut from the same stuff as the rest of them.

When they reached their destination, Wilfred groaned and threw his pack down on the wet ground. He stretched his arms above his head, his bones seeming to groan at the movement.

"Move!" a voice yelled, followed by a sharp whistle.

The other soldiers immediately took off. Wilfred reached for his pack in a panic and tried to sling it across his back as he began running after his comrades. The combination of the wet ground, his sudden movement, and the weight of the pack conspired against him. Before he could steady himself, he cried out as his feet gave way from under him and he landed on his backside, the weight of his pack dragging him down.

Wilfred began scrambling to his feet when he heard the shrill cry of the whistle. He looked up directly into the barrel of what he knew was a P14 rifle, the standard issue weapon for his unit.

"Cadet Chaplin," a cold voice called. Wilfred swallowed. At this point, he would have taken his chances with a bullet rather than the man behind the voice.

"Sir," he replied with a shaky voice, his eyes looking past the rifle pointed at him and to the man holding it.

"Training runs are designed for several purposes. First, they help us gauge the level of our cardiovascular fitness, or the lack thereof. Second, they allow us to simulate conditions that we may find at the Front. Now, at the Front, when you are running from one point to another, do you believe you will have time to stroll?"

"No, sir," Wilfred answered.

"And at the Front, do you believe that when you reach your destination, you will have the luxury of removing your pack and stretching your arms at your discretion?"

"No, sir," Wilfred replied, his face blushing fiercely.

"And at the Front, when you are not prepared to immediately leave your position and move to the next objective, you are endangering not only yourself but your unit as well, are you not, Cadet Chaplin?"

"Yes, sir," Wilfred nodded.

"So, if we _were_ at the Front, and you _did_ run as casually as you just did, and you _did_ remove your pack and stretch your arms without hearing my order to be at ease, what would that make you, Cadet Chaplin?"

"Dead, sir," Wilfred gulped.

"Precisely."

The rifle was raised away from Wilfred's face. A gloved hand came forward and Wilfred gripped it gratefully and found himself raised to his feet by a strong pull.

"Training also allows us to make mistakes without suffering for them too much," the voice said in a slightly more friendly tone. "Be sure you learn from yours, Cadet Chaplin."

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Wilfred answered, snapping himself to attention.

"At ease, all of you. I expect the next time we do the same run, that your times will drop dramatically."

"Sir! Yes, sir!" the soldiers answered in unison.

The commanding officer nodded, then jogged away, his stride comfortable and long, as though he was fresh as a daisy despite having run the same exercise they all had with the same weighted pack.

"Hang in there, Chaplin," Cadet Wakefield said cheerfully as he came over and patted Wilfred on the back. "You'll get the hang of it. We all did."

"Thanks," Wilfred nodded. "This training is a lot harder than I expected. I thought I'd get to go to Sandhurst first, and have some time to get used to all of this, but they shipped me here."

"No time for Sandhurst," Wakefield shook his head. "We need as many bodies as we can get so they put us through our paces here in Ripon and then it's off to Southampton and shove off. Besides, there ain't nothing you'd learn at Sandhurst that you won't learn here, and you learn a fair bit more here on top of that I'd say."

"I don't understand how the Captain can be on top of everything. He ran the same miles we did and seems to not have even broke a sweat," Wilfred shook his head.

"The Captain's a right soldier, he is," Wakefield agreed. "Gotta say that I feel a bit more at ease knowing he'll be leading us over there."

"How long's he been at it?" Wilfred asked. "Must have been around for a while, but he looks younger than I expected."

Wakefield smiled and chuckled.

"What?" Wilfred frowned.

"Captain Crawley's been with us for about three weeks," Wakefield said. "Just joined the Army last month."

**Downton Abbey, England, September 1915**

"There you are," Mary smiled, coming into the library. She walked over to her husband and ran her gloved hand along his shoulders. Matthew looked up from the desk and smiled at her. He reached up and covered her hand with his, squeezing it lightly.

"How was tea with Cousin Violet?" Matthew asked.

"Depressing," Mary sighed, removing her gloves and hat and walking over to the sofa. "All of the letters she receives from her friends invariably contain news of someone's grandson dying in the War. That leads to Granny telling us about how many noblemen have died since the whole nightmare began. I sometimes feel as though I'm listening to obituaries, rather than having a conversation."

"Hmm," Matthew replied.

"And you? What have you been up to while I was gone? You didn't go into the office today?" Mary asked.

"No," Matthew frowned, rising from his chair suddenly. "Would you like tea?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," Mary said. She looked at Matthew curiously as he went over and pulled the cord. Her eyes narrowed as he walked over and sat next to her on the sofa. Rather than look at her, he stared at his hands clasped together in his lap.

"What is it?" she asked carefully.

"What is what?" Matthew asked, looking at her in confusion.

"That's my question exactly," Mary said pointedly. "Why are you acting strangely?"

"How so?" Matthew frowned.

"First of all, you're answering my questions with a question of your own, which is what you always do when you're nervous. Second, you're fiddling with your fingers and constantly glancing towards the door as though Carson will come in and save you at any moment. What's going on?" Mary asked.

Matthew swallowed. He stilled his hands, then looked at her.

"I have something I need to tell you. You're going to be very angry with me, but you must know that I would not be doing this unless it was absolutely necessary," Matthew began.

Mary's eyes widened and she frowned at his words.

"Matthew!" a voice boomed suddenly.

They both looked up as Robert stormed into the library, with Carson fast on his heels. The Earl of Grantham stepped towards them angrily, clutching a letter in his raised hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" Robert demanded.

"Papa, what are you talking about?" Mary asked.

"Your husband knows very well what I'm talking about!" Robert growled. "Yet again, Matthew is making decisions for my family!"

"Robert! Why are you yelling? We could hear you down the hall!" Cora said as she came into the library, Edith and Sybil trailing behind her.

Matthew rose from the sofa. He looked at Mary, who stared back at him in shock.

"If everyone would please calm down and be seated, we can discuss this properly, rather than alarm the servants by shouting back and forth," Matthew said slowly.

Cora and the girls all took seats near Mary. Robert remained standing.

"Robert, I…" Matthew started.

"My commission has been withdrawn," Robert snapped, his eyes fixed on Matthew. "My title as Colonel and Lord Lieutenant are now ceremonial only. Command of the North Riding Volunteers has been taken from me."

The ladies all glanced at each other as the announcement sunk in.

"Well, at the risk of sounding unpatriotic, isn't that good news?" Cora said. "You have many responsibilities here and I for one am glad to hear that you won't be going off to a foreign country to fight."

"Yes, Papa," Mary agreed. "I know you want to do your part, but going off to War is not the only way you can serve your country."

"Apparently," Robert replied. "The government seems to think there is a better candidate to command my men."

"Perhaps there is, Papa," Sybil said quietly.

"This isn't a competition, Papa," Edith added. "You don't need to feel as though you're inferior in any way. Truthfully, I feel sorry for the poor man who must take up your command and go to War."

"Well you can give him your regrets now, because he's standing in front of you," Robert said bitterly.

"What?" Mary gasped.

They all turned towards Matthew. He looked back at his wife, his expression pleading for understanding.

"The North Riding Volunteers have been called to active duty," Matthew said slowly. "While the commission for their command was previously with Robert, the government felt that another man would be better suited to…"

Mary rose from the sofa and stormed out of the library, her steps echoing as she escaped.

"Mary…" Matthew called, watching her leave.

She did not stop or look back.

Matthew put his hand over his eyes, grimacing in despair. This had not at all gone the way that he planned.

"Cousin Matthew," Sybil said quietly.

Matthew opened his eyes and looked at the family. He glared at Robert, whose own expression seemed to have softened.

"Excuse me," Matthew spat, before leaving the room.

**War Office, Whitehall, London, England, August 1915**

"Lord Flintshire," Matthew said respectfully, bowing his head as he was shown into the office.

"Mr. Crawley," Hugh MacClare, Lord Flintshire replied, rising from his chair and shaking Matthew's hand across his desk. "Please, have a seat," he said, motioning to a chair.

Matthew sat down and swallowed. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and slow his pulse, which was threatening to fly out of control.

"I must say I was rather surprised to receive your letter," Lord Flintshire said. "Normally such favours as the one you are asking for are sent to me by my wife's aunt, Lady Grantham."

"Yes, well I thought it wise to exercise a bit more discretion and not involve Cousin Violet," Matthew said quietly.

"Probably a good idea," Lord Flintshire nodded. "That way, she can still ask something of me in the future, if need be."

"I suppose that's true," Matthew smiled. "In any event, I hope you see the merit in my proposal."

"Mr. Crawley," Lord Flintshire shook his head.

"Please, it's Matthew," Matthew said. "We are family after all."

"Yes, of course," Lord Flintshire smiled. "Matthew, Robert is my wife's first cousin and I have known him since we were children. To send him and his unit out to the Front is something that I am neither pleased about, nor looking forward to. But, surely you've read the reports. If Lord Kitchener's Army is to be a million strong, it stands to reason that I will know a number of men in the forces, doesn't it?"

"Yes, certainly," Matthew agreed.

"Then how do you possibly expect me to favour one gentleman over any of the others, even an Earl who is a blood relative of my wife's?" Lord Flintshire asked.

"Lord Flintshire, if I may speak frankly," Matthew began.

"Please do," Lord Flintshire nodded.

"While I do not have a military background, I suspect that Cousin Robert is hardly in fighting shape. I recognize his distinguished record, and greatly respect him for it, but that is in the past. To send him to the Front in his present condition is not, in my view, in the best interests of the country," Matthew said.

"Does he have some ailment that I am unaware of?" Lord Flintshire asked.

"Physically, he's fine, for his age," Matthew replied carefully. "However I do not know if he would be able to endure the demands of War."

"Well that is what training is for, Matthew," Lord Flintshire said.

"But, please correct me if I am wrong, Lord Flintshire, but as an established officer, Cousin Robert would not have to do standard training as the other soldiers in his unit would, isn't that right?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, that's true," Lord Flintshire admitted.

"Then, any physical issues that Cousin Robert may have would not be exposed, in theory, until he was already at the Front," Matthew noted.

"Even if I were to accept your theory, I fail to see how your proposal is any better, Matthew. Cousin Robert may be older and not as physically fit, but he has been in battle before. He knows what it is to command a unit. These are qualities highly lacking in your proposed replacement. How can I, in good conscience, place the lives of other soldiers in the hands of someone with no previous military experience? Surely you see the folly in such a suggestion?" Lord Flintshire said.

"I would be more than happy to have someone with a better military record replace Cousin Robert," Matthew smirked mirthlessly. "But the reality is that commissions are being given to members of the gentry with very little review or requirements. If you have a candidate able to take Cousin Robert's place, then feel free to proceed as you wish, Lord Flintshire."

Lord Flintshire sighed and looked at Matthew with a resigned expression.

"Sadly, I do not," he muttered. "Leave it with me, then. Cousin Robert will receive his orders in the mail. I'll drop a note to you in advance so that you know what has been decided and how to deal with the consequences."

"Thank you, Lord Flintshire," Matthew nodded, rising and shaking the man's hand once again.

"Matthew," Lord Flintshire said sternly. "If your proposal is accepted, then I expect that the man who is to take command of the North Riding Volunteers will train harder than they will, will study harder than they will, and will work much much harder than they will. I need a soldier, not a man with a title."

"Yes, Lord Flintshire," Matthew nodded. He turned and left.

**Downton Abbey, England, September 1915**

"May I come in?" Matthew asked quietly, knocking on the open door.

"It's your bedroom, isn't it?" Mary snarled, not bothering to glance back at him. She sat at her vanity, staring down at the bottles and boxes set out neatly in front of her.

"I wouldn't want to be here unless you were all right with it," Matthew said, stepping slowly into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Why should what I think be of any concern?" Mary said, glaring at him as she rose from the vanity. "Obviously my opinion isn't of any importance to you."

"Mary," Matthew sighed.

Mary walked purposefully across the room and went into Matthew's dressing room. Matthew frowned and followed her.

"Mary?" Matthew asked in confusion. He stopped at the doorway. His wife was opening the drawers in one of his dressers. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you pack," Mary said with a false smile. "I imagine it will be cold wherever it is you're going. You'll need plenty of socks."

She began flinging Matthew's socks out of the drawer and on to the floor.

Matthew sighed and shook his head.

"I'll be in training first for several weeks," he said. "The training camp is in Ripon, so I'll be close by."

"Will you be staying there or will they allow you to come home in the evenings?" Mary asked, turning towards him.

"I'll have to stay there," Matthew admitted. "They won't permit me to come home."

"Good," Mary said angrily. She thrust a pair of socks into Matthew's chest and walked by him back into the bedroom.

Matthew exhaled and dropped the socks on to the pile Mary had already created on the floor.

"Can't we please talk about this?" Matthew asked, chasing after her.

"Fine. Talk," Mary said, turning around and crossing her arms across her chest.

"I didn't want this to happen. I was only trying to…" Matthew began.

"Did you or did you not go to the government and specifically request that you replace Papa at the command of the North Riding Volunteers?" Mary demanded.

"Well, yes, I did that, but…" Matthew admitted.

"Did you or did you not carry out this ridiculous plan without any consultation with your wife?" Mary growled.

"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but…" Matthew said.

"There. We talked," Mary retorted. She turned and stalked out of the room.

Matthew looked up at the ceiling and grunted in frustration.

**British Military Training Camp, Ripon, England, October 1915**

"Excuse me," Matthew asked, walking up to an older man with glasses seated at a large desk. "I'm Matthew Crawley, and I was wondering if…"

"Papers," the man said curtly holding his hand out and not looking up from his desk.

Matthew hesitated.

"Papers," the man repeated, looking up at Matthew with a frown. "Either you have papers that explain what in the devil you're doing here, or you've taken a wrong turn somewhere. This isn't the library, my dear boy."

Matthew fumbled in his satchel and retrieved the papers containing his commission and his assignment to the North Riding Volunteers. He handed them forward and the man snatched them from him.

"Crawley, Matthew Reginald," the man mumbled, flipping pages in a ledger. "Ah, yes. Captain Crawley."

"Yes," Matthew said, trying to sound confident and failing miserably.

"Your lot's over there by the boxing ring. They were waiting for you so long they decided to work out some energy on each other. Go over there and round 'em up. If you can, that is," the man smiled, handing Matthew's papers back to him.

"Thank you," Matthew nodded, looking over at the men assembled around the boxing ring.

"Sir. Yes, Sir," the man said as Matthew walked away. He shook his head. "He'll be gone in a week," he said under his breath.

Matthew approached the ring and dropped his pack on the ground. The men were gathered around the boxing ring, two of their fellows inside were sparring bare handed.

"Give it to him, Wakefield! Me sister hits harder than you do, you useless twat!"

"Jennings, I swear on your mother that you better win this!"

"Erm, excuse me," Matthew said, trying to get everyone's attention.

The men continued to cheer as the fight went on.

"May I have everyone's attention please?" Matthew said, raising his voice a bit louder.

The men continued to ignore him.

Matthew frowned. He glanced about the room, before seeing what he was looking for.

He wandered over to the other side of the ring as the men continued to yell and scream and watch the fight.

The ring bell sounded three times, freezing everyone in place. The fighters turned and looked over at Matthew curiously. The other men stepped back from the ring and frowned at this stranger who had stopped the fight.

Matthew climbed quickly into the ring to get everyone's attention.

"As I was saying, ATTENTION!" Matthew shouted.

The men automatically turned to face him and held themselves rigid. Some of them glanced at each other in confusion.

"I'm sorry for not introducing myself. I'm Captain Crawley. Some of you may have heard of Colonel Robert Crawley, the former Colonel of this unit. His command has been assigned to me, which means you all have been assigned to me as well. So when I call for attention, I bloody well expect you all to snap to it," Matthew said firmly.

"Sir, if I may speak, Sir," Jennings said.

Matthew turned and looked at the man.

"Yes, Lieutenant Jennings, is it?" Matthew said.

"Sir. Yes, Sir," Jennings answered.

"Permission granted," Matthew said cautiously.

"Sir, some of the men were wondering what your qualifications are, Sir. We haven't served with you before, and so we were a bit surprised that you were put in command, Sir," Jennings said, staring straight ahead.

Matthew looked at the man for several moments. He then slowly turned and watched all of the soldiers gathered around the ring. They all stood at attention, but there was something in their stares that seemed a bit too smug.

"My qualifications?" Matthew repeated. "Right."

Matthew turned to the other man standing in the ring at attention.

"Cadet Wakefield, please step outside the ring. Now," Matthew said.

Cadet Wakefield nodded and quickly scampered down outside the ring.

"Lieutenant Jennings," Matthew said, turning to face the man remaining in the ring. "Let's discuss my qualifications, shall we?"

**Downton Abbey, England, September 1915**

Matthew walked briskly to catch up to Mary, following her down the hall and into the sitting room, barely avoiding her slamming the door in his face. He opened the door and stepped through into the room, closing the door behind him. She was facing away from him, her shoulders shaking with the rage inside of her.

"Would you rather I have done nothing?" he asked. "Would you rather your father go off to War? For God's sake, Mary, he wouldn't last a day over there!"

"How do you know that?" Mary shouted, spinning around to face him. "He's been to War, Matthew! He knows what he's doing. What do you know? How do you plan on leading these men and surviving?"

Matthew swallowed.

"I'm such a fool," Mary laughed bitterly, rolling her eyes and looking away. "I thought I had married that rare man who actually valued my opinion, who looked at me as an equal, who would consult me before making any decision that would affect our family so profoundly. You're obviously no different from the rest of them."

"That isn't true, and you know it," Matthew said, stepping towards her.

"Do I?" Mary glared at him. "How long have you been planning this, Matthew? How long have you known that Papa was to be ordered to go to War?"

"Alex notified me in his last letter," Matthew said. "I needed time to think of a plan on how to save Robert."

"Since June?!" Mary exclaimed, shaking her head. "How many conversations have we had in that time? How many meals have we had together? How many times have you made love to me knowing that you were volunteering to go to War? Since June! For months you've known, and not one word."

"Mary, please," Matthew pleaded.

"You obviously only need me for one specific purpose, and it clearly isn't for my opinion," Mary said coldly.

Matthew stopped in his tracks and recoiled as though her words were a slap to his face.

"Well then," Mary sneered. "Shall we get to it?"

She began unbuttoning her blouse.

"What are you doing?" Matthew gasped, stepping towards her.

"My duty, of course," Mary smiled at him. "I'm only good for one thing to you, so let's get on with it. Or perhaps you'd prefer having me in the parlour this time?"

"Stop it!" Matthew said fiercely. He crossed the distance between them and reached for her.

"No!" Mary slapped him. Tears burst from her eyes and she hit him again, her hands clenching into fists. She punched his chest again and again, her choked sobs breaking into loud wails as he pulled her into his embrace.

"Oh, God, Mary," Matthew said, holding her tight to him as she continued to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"How could you, Matthew?" she cried into his shoulder, her hands trapped between their bodies. "What about us? What about our children? How do you expect me to survive not knowing where you are or what you're doing or whether you're…"

"Shh…" Matthew said, holding her close and kissing her head. "Darling, please. You know I would do anything for this family. I couldn't let them send him, Mary. I couldn't do that to your Mama, or to Cousin Violet, or to Edith, Sybil, and I couldn't do that to you."

"Why you?" Mary said, her hands moving down his chest and around to clutch at his back. "Why do you have to be the one to go in his place?"

"There isn't anyone else," Matthew sighed. "Darling, the government is expected to introduce a conscription bill in the New Year. All men will have to enlist. So I would have had to go anyway, Mary. This way, I'm going on my own terms, and your father is spared. I had to do it, don't you see?"

"No, I don't!" Mary complained, holding him closer. "We could have left before conscription became law!"

"And where would we go?" Matthew chuckled. "All of Europe is already at War."

"I don't know. Canada," Mary said.

"They're already in the War as well, darling," Matthew said, stroking her back.

"America, then. The Orient. Somewhere where you can't come up with any stupid ideas like this one," she said petulantly.

"Mmm…a lovely fantasy," Matthew smiled, kissing her hair.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mary asked quietly.

"You would have talked me out of it, and I wouldn't have been able to resist you," Matthew sighed.

Mary stayed quiet.

"And, I didn't want to force you to choose between your father and your husband," Matthew whispered.

**Downton Abbey, England, September 1915**

"Where is Mary?" Robert asked as he came into the parlour.

"She went riding," Matthew replied, barely looking over at Robert. "She'll be back in time for dinner."

"Is she still angry with you?" Robert asked.

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "But not as much as yesterday, and hopefully she'll be less angry tomorrow."

Matthew turned to face the Earl. "What about you? Are you still angry with me?" he asked.

"Would it matter?" Robert asked in response.

"Are you asking if I would care as much as I do about Mary being angry with me? No," Matthew shook his head.

Matthew walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Robert, who accepted it with a nod.

"I know this is difficult for you to believe, but ever since you arrived, I've been trying to make your life easier," Robert sighed, looking out the window to some point in the distance. "I tried to teach you what it is to be an Earl. I tried to get rid of the Estate debts so you'd be better off when you inherit. I approved your marriage to Mary because I know she'll help you with this place."

"I've never taken issue with your intentions, Robert," Matthew replied.

"No, just with my methods," Robert smiled wryly.

"I know that you think you're helping," Robert continued. "You don't think an old man like me can go to War, and you're probably right. But that decision is mine and mine alone to make, Matthew."

"Robert…" Matthew said.

"No," Robert shook his head. "If something happens to me, then the Grantham line shall live on through you. It doesn't matter if it's a heart attack 50 years from now or a German bullet next month. When my time comes, it is crucial that the Earldom continue. By doing this, you are putting us all in peril, not just this family, but generations to come."

Matthew sighed.

"You think what you're doing is gallant, but it's foolish, Matthew. It's foolish and reckless," Robert declared.

"Do you hear yourself?" Matthew retorted, glaring at his father-in-law. "All you care about are legacies and myths, paintings on the wall showing the glory of the Earls of Grantham and Downton Abbey standing for another hundred years! There are people who matter, Robert!"

Robert's mouth fell open in shock at Matthew's outburst.

"Do you honestly believe that your death will bring any comfort at all to Cousin Cora, or Cousin Violet? Do you think any of your daughters will look up at your painting and be proud that their Papa fell in battle? This isn't a damn Trollope novel! This family needs you! This family needs you to live for them, not for some chapter in a book about the legacy of the Grantham line!" Matthew growled.

"Do you know what I've been trying to do for you since I came here, Robert?" Matthew demanded. "I've been trying to make _your _life easier, and you have done a remarkable job of making it ridiculously difficult for me to help you! The Estate needs to be modernised so that you can make money off of what you own, rather than spend the money you have trying to maintain it. I've involved Mary in all of it because she is brilliant, and I hoped you would see that and it would bring the family closer together. And now we're at War. We're at War and everything that I am working for is being threatened. I hoped that you would be left behind, but your unit has been called to duty, and soon conscription will follow. I had to act. I had to do something to keep this family together, and this is the decision that I've made, for your benefit."

"You had no right to go behind…" Robert said.

"Anyone in your position would simply say 'thank you'," Matthew shot back. "Thank you, Matthew for saving my life and stopping me from going over to France and getting my head blown off at the first opportunity! But I don't need your gratitude, Robert. It's enough to know that you'll live, and that this family will remain intact. And if I need to anger my wife, put myself at risk, and fight a War to accomplish this, then you will damn well believe that I will do that."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Robert raised his glass.

"God watch over you, Matthew," Robert said quietly.

"God watch over all of us," Matthew raised his glass in return.

The Seventh Earl of Grantham and his heir drank in silent understanding.

**British Military Training Camp, Ripon, England, October 1915**

Lieutenant Jennings shook his head, the sweat flying off his brow. He raised his hands once more and paced back and forth, the target in front of him never seeming to stand still.

"In close combat situations, one long sweeping punch rarely connects. Not only that, it opens a man up to be countered numerous times," Matthew said.

Jennings turned to the sound of his voice and was promptly hit three times by a jab to his face, his stomach and his ribs.

"Oof!" he grunted, staggering backward.

"Most importantly though, you must always remember that when fighting an opponent in close combat in the field…" Matthew continued.

Jennings suddenly fell backward as Matthew punched him in the face. Matthew bent and swept his leg across the back of Jennings' feet and the Lieutenant toppled over on to his back. Matthew quickly stepped forward and pressed his foot into Jennings neck.

"Argh!" Jennings yelled, grabbing at Matthew's foot, which remained firmly in place.

"…there are no rules except survival," Matthew said. "A German will not wait for a bell to throw the first punch. A Turk will not abandon his knives to fight fairly hand-to-hand and a Bulgarian will not wait for you to get back up when you've fallen. This is life and death, gentlemen, and whether any of you think I am qualified or not to lead you, men who are far smarter and are paid far more money than any of you have already declared that I am your commanding officer. So, you can either follow me, request reassignment, or desert. Whoever remains in this unit after the next 10 seconds have expired, I will expect not one word of insubordination ever again and demand your absolute and unwavering loyalty. Now, who is leaving?"

Matthew stepped back and allowed Jennings to rise to his feet. Jennings immediately stood at attention.

All of the men stood at attention as Matthew counted to ten.

"Very well," Matthew declared. "We've wasted enough time. We have training to do."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" the men answered immediately.

**Downton Abbey, England, October 1915**

"Please," Matthew asked quietly. "Keep the lights on."

Mary blushed and nodded. She turned away from her bedside lamp and moved towards him. He took her into his arms and pulled her down on top of him, the scent of her perfume filling his senses.

The first time they kissed, in the foyer at the College years ago, the lights overhead were slightly dim. The first time they made love, in the guest bedroom at Painswick House on their wedding night, the room was lit mainly by candles. Over their years together, they had seldom cared about the level of illumination around them during moments of intimacy. They kissed under the bright glass ceiling of the Crystal Palace. They embraced in the dark bedroom at Grantham House. They cuddled under the sun on their terrace in Cannes. They snuggled in the dark confines of his car while driving home from some function or event.

Tonight though, Matthew cared about the lights. He needed to memorize every detail about this evening, imprint every sight, scent, touch, taste and sound in his mind and heart so he could escape to them whenever he needed to. Tonight, his last night with Mary before leaving for War, he wanted to see everything in true clarity.

Mary fought the urge to close her eyes as he kissed her. She kept her eyes open, watching his face, seeing the passion and pleasure wash over him as they touched. Over the years, she had learned to her private joy that Matthew was not particularly fastidious about process. He didn't care what she wore to bed, because he was intent on removing it as quickly as possible. He didn't have a preference for what perfume she wore, because he knew her scent so thoroughly that her mere presence sent his mind reeling. He didn't mind that she was usually short with words in these private moments, because what she showed him through each touch and caress and moan spoke to him more powerfully than any poem or sonnet ever could.

Matthew loved her, and to Mary's surprise, that meant that he loved her just as she was, and was quite pleased to be with her regardless of any excess decoration. He didn't need the production of preparing for bed. He only needed her in bed with him.

Tonight though, Mary was very particular about her preparations. She chose a rather scandalous piece of lingerie to wear, a gift from her husband that made Anna blush when she went to retrieve it. She not only had her maid let her hair down, but was sure to have it brushed enough so that it tumbled across her shoulders and back in waves. She chose her perfume carefully, selecting a rosewater eau de toilette that he bought her in Monaco, during their honeymoon. Every detail about this evening needed to be memorable, and not only for his sake.

His kiss was soft and tender, his hands smooth and reassuring. She could feel the contours of his hard chest through the flimsy material of her negligee, and her arousal flared as her breasts rubbed against him. He swept his tongue across her neck, his one hand moving down to caress her bottom, pulling her close to him and allowing her to feel how much he desired her.

"Mary," he sighed against her skin.

"Matthew," she replied, pushing gently against him so that she could see his eyes. He blinked and looked at her, somehow understanding her need to not quickly intensify their actions just yet.

"I love you," she whispered. "I know that I don't say it enough, and I don't do many things that I should do, as your wife, and it's terrible of me that even now I can't talk about…"

"Shh, Mary," Matthew said, kissing her softly. "Whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. Words are not necessary between us, my darling."

"Matthew Crawley, don't you dare quote _Wuthering Heights_ to me," Mary laughed, tears flowing down her cheeks. "No one in that book ends up together in the end."

"My apologies, Lady Mary," Matthew smiled. "Such a horrible tale does not describe us at all."

She leaned down and kissed him softly, pulling away and caressing his cheek with her hand. She stared into his blue eyes, completely focused upon her. The lights of the bedroom allowed her to see every feature of his face, and she gazed upon him lovingly, knowing it was her right to do so as his wife, and profoundly enjoying the privilege with all that was to happen in the morning.

"It's torture to know that I have to say goodbye to you tomorrow. I know that I'm supposed to be stoic, and proud that you're fighting for Britain. But if I ever look as though I am finding it easy to cope with my husband going off to War, then I am putting on an act," she said.

"Mary…" Matthew smiled at her.

"The cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley," she smirked. "That's what people called me. Some probably still do. I suppose I am, in a way, or when people bring it out of me, I can be. But not with you. Never with you. I can endure a great deal. I've been taught to. I'm the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. I've always had to be the strong one, the fierce one. But I need you, Matthew. You're too much a part of my life now for me to be without you."

"Darling," Matthew nodded, kissing her in reply.

Her hand moved down his chest, across his stomach and to his pyjamas. She swept them over his hips and down his legs, smiling into his lips as he kicked them off. Her hand took hold of him, and he groaned into her mouth, her touch making him delirious, not only from what she was doing, but because it was _her_, because it was Mary touching him, loving him, needing him.

Mary moved and sat in his lap. She smiled down at him, her hands running across his shoulders. His hands moved along her thighs and up her sides, raising her negligee up and over her head. She leaned down and kissed him, his hands moving up her back and pulling her close.

He did not think of what he would do without her, how he could survive in a cold and desolate foreign land, how long it would be before he could hold her like this again and feel her body joined with his. Matthew savoured ever movement, every response, every sensation that flowed through both of them, thinking of nothing but this moment that was for them and them alone.

"Matthew," Mary gasped, his hands on her hips steadying her. He looked up at her and breathed out in wonder. As she fell apart and cried out, he closed his eyes and saw her in the moments of her release, and the vision stirred him further until he held her close and allowed pure bliss to overtake him.

* * *

"Matthew," she said, smiling as he kissed her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "You should sleep. It's almost dawn."

"I don't want to sleep," he said, his voice thick and heavy as his hands moved down her front. "I just want to remember everything about this night, and not waste a minute of it."

"It's all right," she said, covering his hands with hers as they travelled lower down her body. "We'll be all right."

"I'll come back, Mary, I swear it," Matthew promised, kissing her cheek. Their joined hands settled across her stomach.

"I'll come back to both of you."


End file.
